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In the things that are both sad and beautiful
Like a sunset that starts a joy
Or a dawn that brings a certain end
There surges a stillness that can only be understood by clarity.
When even silence creates its own sound,
Where new perspective curls
In the sudden energy
Of a wave that isn't formed
Just unconsciously A decision is made.
Isnt this always hopes way?
Of water and air, a force of transperancy
That seems to elude us all.
But what is it like to actually do
Come back from a fall
And accept the distance that has to be recrawled ?
I haven't had a true feeling for a while
Truth hidden between the conflicts
Of dreams mentioned and goals unsaid.
And I haven't said enough yet
To gain listeners to my story
Only collective whispers of doubt
And splatters of encouragement
All but leaves a dent in my reflection
They've all becomed enthralled by the cover
And victim to the rhythm of the chorus
So is a book a book without chapters?
Or do we veiw it as a continuous life?
Is a song still music,
without a message to be felt ?
What is time without the junction
Of Decades and years ?
And what kind of man doesn't
Speculate his days.
Or study the ways
Of the dumb the rich and the slaves?
Sometimes I hear myself think too loud
Without giving my soul a chance to speak,
And without the music Of
The intelligent streets
I fear I'll become lost
Within the pulse of the beast.
