We call love,
Where does it come from and
Where does it go when we
Put ourselves on pedestals and
Tear each other down;
What is this thing
What is its purpose and
What does it mean,
Why do we give it
To some and not all,
Why do we need it and
What is it made of;
What is this thing
We call love?
Letting go of the words you could have said
The people you could've met
The places you could've gone
Things you could've done
But you didn't;
Letting go of thoughts that make no sense
Words that have no meaning
Names you heard somewhere
But they're not important;
Letting go of things that can't be done
Places we can't go
People we can't meet
Conversations we can't have again;
Letting go of all that we forgot
The dreams we had so many nights ago
The people we passed on the street one day
Everything's fine
That's what we tell ourselves
When we know it's a lie,
It's a beautiful day
It's gonna be ok
What you were taught to say
To the lady on the street
Who is visibly upset;
It won't be like this forever
It's gonna change here soon
That's what you tell yourself
When it's been like this
For so long that
Anything different is a distant memory
Like the days in your childhood
When you actually believed
I'm an open book
Read it as you may
Ignore it as you must
It'll still be there
Either way;
It can't grow legs and walk off
It can't grow wings and fly away
So what can it do?
It can sit quetly
Waiting patiently
To be read
Absorbed by the next sponge;
An open book
A vessel of knowledge
Public transit for ideas
You can love it
We retreat to this rain-soaked forest,
surrounded by the sighs of ancient cedar
and the soft murmur of fern’s moist lament,
the shrill of yesterday’s business stilled
by the baritone glow of the fire’s ember,
Here our breathing sings as mountains make song,
bright melody scattered in a motley of leaves, steady
percussion of rain on the tin roof, thin reeds
of wind in the orchestral trees. Orchestration,
harmonic with our being here, an adagio
tucked into a pause of the green sonata.
We are searching for the perfect frame
For a piece of art we haven’t yet painted.
We know the size of the canvas, the blending
Of color and the scale of the brushstrokes,
How many hours it takes to explore
The balance of composition, expression
We’ve stirred a lot of paint, blended
Hues into subtleties never imagined
We both know how unimportant
Framing walls are to the world inside
Still, we begin again, our empty space
Where swirling imagination draws life.
Make up this
Make up that
Make up the burses on your face
Make up this
Make up that
Make up the scar on your cheek
Apply a little here
Apply a little there
For who does make up care
If you apply a little
You will become beauty
But you are already beautiful
Make up in hair
Make up everything
Why does make up care
Make up is mask
People...
everywhere...
Some are bitter, some are sweet
but the only one left,
is truly me.
Everywhere I see them.
Acting like I should know.
Wonder, wander, wonder, wander
All the same in the end.
Past, Future, Present.
All collide in harmony as one.
Thinking is okay, thoughts maybe not.
The scars I have are not visible
The scars I have are in my heart
The scars no one will ever see
The ones where no one will hear or speak because they know its to painful
They know that its hard for me to hear
Hard for me to hear because if I do I will cry and won't stop
Because what has made those scars have made me into a beautiful human being.
Those scars are me
Its what made me into me!
Im not hot
Im cold
My hands are cold
But you know what they say cold hands warm heart
I dont know what i have
Do i have a warm heart
Or a cold one
Do i have warm hands
Or do i have cold ones
Because i need and answer
Im cold
The wolf is a concept
Its not like someone is a wolf
Its like someone is pretending to be a wolf
The wolf is a concept
Its like someone is different to you in someway, shape or form
But their not
They are lying
Pretending
Not being true
They put up an act just to fool you