I Always thought
I'd find the person who
Owned my keys,
But what shall they do
When they discover
There are too many locks?
And the hindges of misery
Sway on a rock
To block the courtesy
Of the present day
For to live in the past
Is an easy way to die
" I will not rot in the ground
In a box of my lies. "
Because I didn't listen
To the Spirits of the breeeze
Or the script of life
Not writing my own
Or making others right
You can live for yourself
Or you can live for the night
Is hope a layer of time?
Or is it an eternal bandage we use?
An excuse to forsake
The Gift
Of Clear sight
And a straight mind
For an unthinking heart
We sigh the taste of frustration out in a breath that gave no life
And took no smell,
Born is the best that blooms with no start.
They say all I could do was ask,
But I can scribe the things I'll never
do well.
And who would tell of where to go
In a group of stars that's lost already,
I given my better lines and tricks
To tell you a story that hasn't finished
It's easy to imagine
Yet hard to become real
In a world where everyone only knows the edition of another.
But never the best version of themselves.
