Stoned

“Good morning” said the oak tree
To the dark and gloomy stone
Would thou prefer I go away
And leave thee to thine own?
I sway your way on gentle breeze
With warmth for you to hold
But as a tree, I ask of thee
Do stones prefer the cold?

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Struck

They babbled like a brook in spring
She wondered why they came
Oblivious to everything
She did not know their names
She shrugged her shoulders, endlessly
To signify her doubts
And searched for signs, repeatedly
Of her own whereabouts.

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Speechless

The wall has closed that vital crack
that allowed me to come through
It seems that fissure healed itself
And blocked my point of view
Just one more stranger in the stream
Who failed to reach those things unseen.

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Awakenings

Gentle thought and quiet talk
Of yesterday’s promise, it seems
Reveals the truth, the painful proof
That waking falls short of our dreams.
As youthful dreams are laid to rest
Their intent to pave the surface
Our hearts and minds still try their best
To make the dream the purpose.

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Limitations

I can’t possess the moment of the breeze
Or capture smells from flowers growing wild
I can’t abolish painful tragedies
Or dry the painful tears of every child
I don’t recall a time I did not long
To save the world and rescue every heart
I don’t think small but I have been so wrong
To think that I could carry out [...]

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Finale

I’m sick to death of caring
Of trying and begging and fighting
Looking down on that hedge
From the edge of this ledge
Makes jumping sound very inviting.

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