The Bus

 

Found, Through Translation

 

Nocturne For The Mountain

 

Reflections

 

Starry Night

 

Back to the Pen—

The Weapon—

The Friend—

Out Here on Road—

We Depend

And Rely—

To Never Defend—

But Imply—

The Hedgehog

I've backed myself into this Corner—

  There's no one Here, but Me—

I am not Weak enough to Leave—

  But Strong enough to Be—

Poke me now, I might bite back—

  Forgive a Spine of this—

For as of Now, my bags are Full—

  Carrying, hard-earned Bliss—

The Therapist

The Air I hold is Heavy Today—

  The Light, too Bright for Eyes—

The World Outside is much too Loud—

  And I haven't the Strength to Sigh—

I cannot Find what I was looking for—

  I can't Remember either—

Sleep is now, the only Guest

  To Call, and I would Answer—

But is it This?—these Silly Words—

  That I Lost back at the Start?

No, no,—no they are not—

  But they Always Play the Part.

What shall I do with this Heavy Air?

  Breathe it out again?—

Is it for sure, the Cycle Repeats?—

  If so, when does it End?—

Now let's start over, Here & Now—

  Forget the Weight of Air—

Place your Hand upon your chest—

  There's still a Heart in there—

Your Dog, now find the Leash—

No one ever knows

What another life is like—

So put your Finger away

And hide it, like a Knife.

Home

A Secret Frequency of Mind

  Is where I call my Home—

No single Place, nor any Time—

  But Waves, I call by Name—

A certain Distance must Remain

  To not Feel so Alone—

And what is Near too often Bears

  Weight, that is not its Own—

Time & Distance, if in Balance

  Keep Gravity in Motion

So that we're never Burdened by

  Static Locomotion—

A Walk Outside

Between each Second, there Hides an Hour

  Behind each Thought—a Dimension of Feeling

Between Dream and Reality—an Abeyant World

  The Artist must Conjure and attempt to Persuade.

It's Beyond the extremes of Silences and Noise—

  Outside of the Interstate's Midnight Howl—

Just Before the Fury of that Lucky shooting Star—

  Tangled in the Harmonics of an Oceanic Signal—

Where Instruments are Waiting to be set into Motion—

  And Songs sit Idle, awaiting their Choir—

Where the Arches of Cathedrals are built to withstand

  The extraordinary Light of a Butterfly's Wing—

Where Melodies inaudible to Earthly ears—

  And Ideas too Majestic for any one Mind—

And Rain not keeping a familiar Rhythm—

  But that of a Signature, still yet defined—

All wait for the One—if any—Brave,

  Enough To Venture, Outside of Time.