Springtime Grays

6 05 2006

to sleep and not to dream

I fell asleep waiting for a smile last night,
I think I tried to to make her happy,
I think I might have been so close,
I went to sleep, to sleep, to never know.

Was it Love at All?

Rushing out of your life and into your dreams
Love isn’t quite what you thought it could be,
And it’s not what I remembered from my precious silver screen,
The swollen pride and the sometimes invincible me,

And was it love at all …
When you can’t find the faith to carry on?

Clasping my hands to the winter air,
I imagine once there was something beautiful there,
And you turned out just to be like the rest,
You finally gave in and what might I expect?

And was it love at all …
When you melt into someone so small?
And was it love at all …
When you find out that it was hopeless all along?

A Voice Peculiar

In the coldest air, millions of thoughts
Flooded my eyes,
Erasing the what-ifs and the what-nots.
Maybe it was the something
Peculiar in that voice,
Something crying reason,
Men are merely toys.

Suffocating Dreams

Dreams need air,
To escape the ground,
Be free from reason,
And expectations,
And deliberations,
To run from the earth,
Lift into the sky,
To escape our thinking,
So that it might not die.

Dreams might breathe,
If it wasn’t for women like you,
And a broken thing I call ‘me’.

Dreams might taste the heavens,
If only the world’s minds would let it.

The Dream is Done

Tired and shaking, I’m hardly staying awake,
Cold and broken, this time it’s not my mistake,
Eyes awash, faith is lost, the dream is done,
I was too young,
The fate of the brave, the brash, and the ridiculous is revealed,
The future not promised, not written, only an empty copy sealed.

So Low

The only reason I’m upset is because it’s true,
The chances are for the chance that I won’t be with you,
It takes it toll on me, but I’ll be strong,
I don’t have to care to carry on,
Thanks to you, we’re both so clear,
How sick to think I called you my dear,
How alone was I to sink so low,
To reach down so far and pick up a stone,
I must have been so very alone.


She seemed so familiar,
Like an imaginary friend,
Or some disappearing virtue,
So valued in the end.

Dawn Rising, Falling

But never so empty did dawn feel after
Till after precious dawn found out,
That at every morning he finds himself
A product of the solar house.
That at midday dawn ponders,
Sets no shadow on any thoughtless stone,
Collects his wits,
And decides to die ( in a few hours )
All but all, alone.



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