Eyes like the heartwood of a tree that thrived through weather worse than it could realize sealed behind a glossy layer of resin look past her nose and fair complexion.

The way i see the world is black and white. A consistent kind of chronic disaffection, but in those eyes i've found theres an exception.

Through my window is the moon, the only witness to the tears like whispers that maintain the perfect silence as they land.

With waining stars that fly across the sky my mind will wander as i wonder wether she’s ever felt the same, or if she'd understand.

My mental state will stabilize as i will try to hide the shutter in my dull and damaged eyes until tonight i see our moons cold glow wherein i know that i will once again confide.

as days go on and nights grow colder i find this weight to be too much for me to shoulder, much less hold inside.

If today had been the last one i was given,

would i be contented with the story i have written?

Or would each line read the same past halfway through?

Telling of the nights spent mourning for the life l never had with you.

In short, the image of your eyes is one that i could never leave behind.

and while you have a home inside my heart, you’re always on my mind.

it’s hard to find a single thing we see the same yet every morning we share a decent cup of coffee and a thought, one of what the next day has to offer.

And we know, the same happens your regularly scheduled shit show, but every morning in the spring another flower blooms and shows us all what it has to offer; the world is an author, one that writes with life and never lets the sun set early but still there’s just not enough time in a day for me.

pay attention.

Every snowflake is its own every songs a different tone every blade of grass an artifact from the mountains to the stones is there a single thing we don’t take for granted? Like the fact that the world is slanted just enough to keep from burning up in the nearest star that we named the sun. In a galaxy of anomalies and a planet full of space men you’d think were the lucky ones.

But this world is one of many things and when the gives us diamonds we sell wedding rings and other shiny things to keep us happy and others rich what a waste of a world like this, but something simple as a bean with bitter taste and caffeine can make my day when prepared a cirtin way is all we need to loosen the collar on the life we lead and free that little bit of Human that’s still inside of me. So with a decent cup of coffee that cost me no more than an hour of my time I will spend my life at work to wake and make another pot to last until I die.

But it wasn’t always like this.

There once were times when the bluest of sky’s would shine upon the cheeks of the innocent that had no lies to hide behind.

“Once upon a time” a statement that stands for all great and terrible things that passed the teary eyes of the people from a time when the grass was a nuisance to trees and the trees were the children of that star we call the sun. But people won

Vast parking lots that pave the roads of Change. City’s of mammals never sleeping always making always building from nothing comes something but nothings not nothing when the something we build upon is a cascade of fallen trees cut perfectly to please the people that force the world to work for every breath that it breaths.

So enjoy your decent cup of coffee but remember from where we take the beans.

the place that the man has spent his entire life searching for is in front of him.

his eyes are full of accomplishment, and his mind races. his feet carry his acheing body across the feild of crisp grass to the lands he had only dremt of. a beautiful place of colorful flora and comforting light reaching every nook and cranny as if the sun focused its attention here. the man was speachless, he continued to walk untill he himself became apart of this magnificent scenery. he cries. his mind is full of thoughts of what he had to do to find this place; people lost, pain sustained, the storms that he endured. all with this glorious place in his mind giving him the hope he needed to continue. he poses a question aloud, the first word he spoke after achieving his goal. “why”. he weeps. the man realized that he was alone. he knew that he had pushed people away, and left everything behind him so that he could be in this place that gave him hope to push through day after day of torment that he sees now was self inflicted. he is in phisical pain. his mind and soul are shattered. he now has hope for nothing..exhausted, the man fell asleep. that night his dreams were differnt. that night he drempt of the things that could have been.

I believe in angels, I always have; although I’ve found myself struggling to live a faithful life, I believe that we are all connected by an otherworldly thing that grants us thought. I believe that people are like boxes with incredibly complex locks, and the keys are in the pocket of our angels. Those angels have wisdom beyond comprehension, and give our keys away to only the people who are deserving. When we find a room is made more comfortable with the addition of a loved one, we can be sure that our angels are welcoming them to release the latch in our rightfully protected mind and soul.

I also believe in demons.

Horrendous creatures that seek shelter in the righteous temple of those whose locks are weakened and able to be persuaded open. They welcome themselves and reduce temples to ruins with their destructively believable deception and their pitiful desperation that preys on our empathy.

Those who are victims of these dangerous entities are able still, through strong will, to rebuild their temples and be healed by the loving hand of God. However... our angels become more vigilant when our trust is broken by another. And our locks become more intricate and difficult to open, even when one is deserving of the key. We find ourselves growing thicker skin and denying our emotions for fear of another deceiver finding it’s way around our defense. Although patience is sometimes required, working the lock is well worth the reward once an angel grants you her trust and puts you in charge of defending a precious soul.

We have known that we would become men

Since the moment that this was something we could comprehend. I’ve long awaited the moment that I would be recognized as an equal to the people of the “real world”. It wasn’t until now that I realized being equal is a lot like being ignored.

There is no time

No, none at all

The watch on my wrist

Lies with its face

As it tries to explain

That there’s no time to waste

I know I will age

And that cannot change

But rather then run and fill up with rage

I waste all the time that I can

For every second I give you

For every moment planned out

There’s nothing to run to

Or worry about

Don’t be in a rush

To watch life go by

Because I promise it must

So ignore the clocks lie

There are no seconds

No hours

No minutes

There’s only beginning and middle

And what you do with it

The end isn’t near

But it will be one day

So enjoy wasting time

In your own special way

The idea that the breath that I breathe is a gift from the trees helps me to see that when I feel defeat and I’m down on my knees there’s a reason to rise to my feet.

As the sky turns to gray, the trees will release their grip on the leaves that delicately descend and lightly land about the lawn.

The rake greets the leaves like old friends

The lawn is brown and sickly, soon to be smothered by the snow. the compost helps the grass to grow in the seasons of the melting snow.

The auburn bushes line the road, they understand that they will die so they choose to be as beautiful as they can with the time that they have left between the seasons.

They do not ask for reasons, and they do not beg for life, because their weakened roots will strengthen underneath the summer sun that’s sure to come as soon as winters done.