Beating like a mad drummer trying to take a stand.
Pounding like a stranger walking up the road trying to understand.

Life, love, happiness and sadness, sanity and madness, is it all up to fate?

Let go, let go, allow yourself to let it go.

If time is constant and we are on the same path, can you cast me a line?
In the reflection of this store front window can I go back in time?

Through your window, a divided curtain reveals a glimpse of your shadow.  Watching from the street below, hoping for you to see me and to summon me to your room.
Bell rings, flags unfurled and hoisted up onto the flagpole.
My love for you is painful and until I hold you in my arms again, I will always be pining for your love.
A window, curtains parted, I yearn to come inside to you, to embrace you and to set you free.

It’s a short walk across the bridge, a bridge which spans across a river. The river is wild, white caps and rocks, hidden falls and sudden rises.

Tree limbs rudely spreading across the banks, waiting for it’s next victim to try and pass on by.
It’s a hard high climb to get to the top, to walk across and see for yourself if it’s a myth, or a truth.

Tonight my heart is broken, I feel my mind is asleep, no words left to be spoken and the tears have all run dry.

Tomorrow is a new day, the climb up the steep mountainside, won’t be simple but neither will be sitting in a room alone save for the ghosts who are dueling within my mind.

Turn on the record player, lay down the needle and listen to the crackling through the speaker’s.

Suddenly a piano begins to play and the brick walls are broken down, across the bridge you can see the past and all the visions they once held, now they are complicated memories and there is confusion among the inhabitants of this old broken down structure.

The preacher stands upon an empty crate and screams in a sing songy twang.

“It’s all within you. Life will always continue no matter who comes and goes. Bring smiles and love, only love and cheer can heal this broken world. It’s a beautiful world with billions of heroes, the heroism is what the stuff of the day to day is made of. Look within the living and you will find unsung heroes. Treasure them, embrace them and have respect for them. They are you. They are God.”

In the distance there is a musical caravan of former circus performers. The accordion, the oboes and the lyres. The voices of angelic life pounding through the thick air, bringing bright light into this dark town.

“Love each other, love conquers all.”

In the sky, I sense the presence of a silent flight. Towards the stars and the planets so far away and alive.


Distant civilizations, different or the same? We have no idea, we have no idea. Yet there is constant speculation, constant condemnation towards the unknown.

God is defined in infinite ways, most are concerned with love and keeping a tight bond and peace.
Accept the differences.
Agree to disagree.
You don’t have to like but you should never truly hate.
I am guilty, I have always been.
But I am trying and I always will be.


It’s a tapestry. A kind of poem with words that shouldn’t rhyme yet somehow finds a way to band together to create a lyric so sweet.

A sort of anthem for life itself. Sometimes it seems nothing in life makes sense, then, suddenly it all somehow begins to rhyme, to make sense.

The answers are all within you, you don’t need anyone to tell them to you. Look within and the answers to the impossible will reveal themselves.

Her hair falls softly, she never truly smiles. 
Watching her as she bathes, her beauty overwhelming her heart so wild.

She walks towards me, all wet and with that smile.
She opens her door for me and invites me for a while.

Do you believe in Paradise?
Do you believe in hell?
Look straight into my eyes.
The aroma of sulfur mixed in with salt water and sand.
A new day, a show upon the tables.
Where the voices will rise and the man will close the bar and walk her home.
She never truly smiles, she just reveals a smirk or a grin.

Her heart beats wildly, but she’ll never let you in. She is aglow with a sordid sort of purity, red eyes and pink hair, the stream of freedom has held her captive and now she can never truly be free.
A new day, same show; as she dances up on the tables, of a seedy bar off of highway thirty five.


You see her dry crying, false smiling and moving to a beat but she is barely alive. I remember her before she died and became a slave to false freedom.

There is a journey, a trip of sorts.
Around a thin passageway and a road filled with pools of lava.

We walk in groups for fear of being stranded alone, fallen in a ravine.

The vultures glide low searching for the dead or the dying. We walk in groups but we are always alone.

Looking down at the dried up riverbed we can feel the dead heat sun searing through our skin and dried up bones.

We wonder if our prayers can survive long enough to find the One we hope you respond.

We pray in groups of ten and we sing in ancient tongues as we circle around this ledge, avoiding the fallen boulders and pebbles.

Take my hand, I will give you all that I can. As you walk in the valley of the shadows of… Take my hand and find the truth inside of you, to empower you, to thrust your trust into your soul.

Anything is possible, anything is possible…