many the days I could’ve stopped,
many the ways I should’ve gone —
ever and onward, homeward drawn,
always the route I don’t adopt —
why, when I knew, did I not cease?
is there no balm in Gilead?
road, carry home this old nomad
back to his place of calm
and peace
The tower brings the earth to sky,
The water brings the sky to earth;
Maybe we’ll know it, by and by —
The reason for our life, and birth,
Or maybe, we are meant to be
Twixt woe, and what’s uproarious
In equal measures, to reflect
On what’s above
And glorious
the party of the first part,
considering the merits of the cake,
adjudged the occasion worthy of the risk,
taking advantage of the outrageously low fares
available at all times to dreamers everywhere,
which was the icing of the thing, or perhaps
just the predictable result of a mind bent
on discovering how and why it is
that any cakes ever go
uneaten
Bring me the night and you, and I need little more,
For nothing else intoxicates like this:
A realm of learnings, carried by uncommon core;
The many-volumed novel in a kiss
The lingering, a candle slow to burn the wick;
The curvature that’s well known to the touch —
The slightest little turn that finally does the trick,
The final gear that doesn’t need the clutch
A night and you, it’s all and it is everything:
A time for hearts to find the extra beats —
The sunrise waits to see what wonders we will bring,
A paradise of tangling and sheets
Our wine is so much more than just a fancy cup:
For where the night gives off, we’re only starting up
When love first breaks Like dawn across the sky, Your heart fills up And all the old fears die And every cold And lonely day recedes, Within the ground Are planted golden seeds -- When love first breaks Like shattered porcelain, The heart lies broken, Filled with fears again The cold returns To fill us from inside: As 'neath the snow Lie nascent trees that died
The days of life come few and fast: we feel, we fight, we sleep, we try -- But there's no anodyne of hope to give us strength to glimpse the sky Behind the sludge we paste upon our eyes, with all we read into Our sagging minds. For what is time that we should fill it up with what is true?
the wintertime explodes in color, joy inside and out of doors: ration passion? out of fashion racked and stacked in all the stores of remaining yule provisions. how the shelves were cleared and steered towards what we have all been missing: hope, that lately, disappeared
come, feel the wind across the water, smell the hint of salty air; come, see the silent and secluded, i will come, and join you there. there, we'll know our hearts are beating, and that life is tall and wide; there, there's comfort in succeeding turning what's outside, inside
once, machines: noisy, noisome, shouts across a noxious room then, a world that's changing, moving, turns a hive into a tomb once, alive, in grease and oil, iron moving, weight and steel, time, like trains, in one direction, cares not how we think or feel
