To Be A Growing Boy

Oh, to be a growing boy.
A dying man.
Starving for youth in a thriving world.

Could it be that we believe?
Perception got the best of me.
When all else failed for you to see.

Go on now, make it whole.
Fix it right.
Receive my goal.

Like father like son.
Become the one you like the most.
It's either or, not what you boast.

Criminals cry with broken silence.
For I am alone in this.
I watch the crawl become my dance.

She prances around the room.

Is it that time of year?
A time to fear.
So damn close, I can almost hear.

Smashing, crashing, waiting, dashing.
Leaving, cleaving, grieving, returning.

Back to what I knew.
I now know what was pure.

Exist

Finding it hard to see up from down, left from right. What was left from what was right? Discontinue discontent from this to that so I can catch a glimpse. A glimpse of existence. Persistence. Deliver your letter to my soul.

Read out loud!

Fold in half the past that passes over me.

Under me.

Through me.

Turing back around and down below the sky.

Send The Sun My Melody

Songs of truth to sell a question.
Selling songs with soulful smiles.
Miles may keep it far.
Across the states, across the lines.
Separation digs its heels in deep.
Holding down the softer kind.
Views of lakes, of country sides.
Rivers and the trees.
Mountains claim the traveled hearts.
Wander through my seas.
But don't talk, don't see.
Don't listen, don't hear.
Don't grown or yell or whisper smooth.
These words will all but tell.
Never met.
Never seen.
Never heard so never need.
None is better when none can last.
Wait, I'm just about to leave.
Get off the couch, onto the bus.
The train, the plane, the sky.
The taxi cab straight to your coast.
See what this song could try.
Written for was written calm.
Slow down will slow the evergreens.
Bare to green and green to bare.
A sudden memory.
She sent the sun my melody.

Mantra as of Late

It's never a bad idea to make a good choice.