When sound,
The wall we use to keep out the ghosts,
Comes down,
We stretch our arms wide
Into the great nothingness that is
Everything we ever hoped for,
And absorb, at last, how it feels
To be so temporary, but
To long, so badly,
For real permanence.

Winter, made
Of hidden castles,
Told me this

the song keeps going through my mind:
the candles on the dresser there —
you lay upon the bed and looked,
the flickering was in your hair —

and dim as everything might be,
we found a way, that moment, then
to join the dark and light as one:
the way things always should have been —

i close my eyes and count to ten
to have that time that place revive —
it’s you, and then it’s you again,
who always brings my dreams

alive

I bring to you my shadows,
For I have grown them long
Amid the spiraling decay
Of legacy gone wrong

I cannot claim that I have been
A difference to many;
I spin my tires in these woods,
Anxieties aplenty,

And though the light would find its way
To touch my weary eyes,
I know these shadows far too well:
I’ve come to realize

That what I am is what I’ll be.
And though I roam and range,
I cannot flee the dark that’s me
Or really hope

To change

… but you probably should.
When it’s made like this,
It’s really good.

I’d live in this place
If I could —
So maybe you don’t,
But you probably

Should

A little below the trees I live;
A little behind the times I stay —
It may seem a little bit odd to you,
This day and age, to live this way —

It’s not that I don’t understand the rage
That motivates people, now, everyday,
It’s just, I’m a little bit less than sure
That it ever made anything bad

Go away

I stand within above below
One color in the prism
These points within the field we’d call
A wild asterism

The Winter Hexagon my friend
With his eternal chorus
That though we work against ourselves
We still have so much

For us

When you’d forgotten where you were,
When you could feel the cold inside,
When all the ground you covered felt
Like just a hamster wheel

When choices made felt so unmade,
When winter seemed to know you best,
And only the iciness within
Felt anything like real

When afterthoughts seem everything,
And tears won’t come when well they should,
When you remember lies the best
For little good seems true

You walk because you have to move,
You think but thoughts will not go still,
You cover ground repeatedly
For what else can

You do?