Why I want to actMy feet are tired of treadingtroubled earth;nothing grows,too much suppression.The only ounce of truth leftis too far buriedto be seen.It isn't untilthe tireless sun finds it's wayto the other side of the earth,and the misted moon tumbleshalfway across the skythat the unrelenting day gives wayto silence;our barriers give wayto ourselves.I have dreams;dreams that make mountains look likeanthills,and anthills look likegrains of sand.I want to tell the truth.I want to say exactly how I feel,I want to feelexactly how I feel.I have dreams,dreams that make my aching feet feelthey could run to th
A different kind of sunriseA different kind of sunrisesoon shall shatter our horizon,and I shall sweep my handsacross the skyuntil the air paints wordsupon my arms.The dustiest corners of my mind willsoon forget suppression, and all shall seethe acrylics in my eyesand the stillframes in my fingers;and I'll be followed bythose wishing to seek outtheir own symphonyfrom between the seven layers of sunlightin their skin.A different kind of sunrisesoon shall ignite thedew-drenched earth,and from my battered rooftop I shallwatch it come.
DawnTreeline breathes starslike dust; yesterday fallsfrom tangled branchesdawn penetratesa yawning horizon
I have known no greater joyAfter so long,it feels nearly impossibleto find musicbeyond the monotonous drone of ever ringing telephones;to find peacebeyond the unrelenting discomfortof business casual shoes;And yet, somewhere amidsttense muscles and troubled thoughts,I find a smile.In deep, sun-starved corners that arehidden even from myself, I feeldust stir;I have known no greater joythan laughter.
The inevitable truthThe hardest part of being a writer is accepting that some things cannot be expressed in words.
I have to use my imagination to "decide"
EXCELLENT !!!