Wandering lonely like a fallen leaf of an autumn tree Flowing with the winter breeze
The trick is not to stick with what won’t stick. Life's stories are muddy quarries where worries cloud those under and shroud with their thunder bereft memories like lightning hailing pain for rain.
Wanting to scream all the pain that you've been keeping to yourself. But instead, you covered your mouth. Keeping those screaming and not letting any word out.
Stitches our tattered bond every doubtful night. But your lies, keep ripping us apart. The curtains patch our battles from the world to hear.
Our honks and hiss transform Rebellious riots into pride parades, Peer-pressure shame into defiant love, Fragile weakness into gorgeous strength.
Gazing on King Henry's corpse did we stand, Not a solider stood saluting, as his farewell shot, Satisfied faces stood there, no rose in the hand.
In the dimly lit corridors Between the two realms Of sleep and consciousness Are lost in the cruel haze of wakefulness
For the impossibilities Have faded in yesterdays Be grateful that memories cannot work
Due to being created by and inhabited by Dirty, corrupted, sick humans, The world is covered with Muddy contradictions and romantics.
"Please do come to my home," Whispered the lonely spider To anyone who came by.
We say hello...we say goodbye So many times, we tried to fly Our hearts are broken but still, we try
They paint magenta over black skies or pale blue over white clouds. Some painters dab their brushes in magenta skies others in clouds.