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Friday nights –
The mad, bad streets,
Pacing, thinking, wishing, seeing
Cold nights, tipsy, hot blood –
Deep dives and long drives,
Strange, loud, high neighbors.
It ends on a Saturday morning
Sleepy, Saturday...

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound...

Come live with me, and be my love;
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By...

"You made me act
that way," he says.

"If you didn't say that,
I wouldn't have done it to you.'

"I'm sorry.
I didn't mean to."

Look—
I hit you,
but you just made
me so...

Free as a bird, no chains, no ties,
Drifting through endless, open skies.
No map to follow, no path too steep,
Just the wind’s whisper and skies so deep.

No weight to carry, no clock to chase,
Just open air and boundless...

What days are these?
Where the gods walk amongst us
Is it a shame to them
Or vain glory to us
When they muddle themselves
The trivialities of mere mortals!

There is a bird, on my window sill
The poor thing, has a broken wing
She can’t sing, she can’t dare fly
Look at her! Flatter, fall and fail
What would it take, to make her sail?
Will time offer her rest, and heal?
Or, have...

A dandelion has 15,000 seeds.

If wishes came true,
I'd spend every single one
Hoping that I'd get to have
Forever loving you

He spits on the face of the gods;
And still they sing his songs
Our stories; tears and hurt,
Are fodder for his craft.
What we whisper in shame,
He sings his way to fame.
Many men are born,
But forgotten once...

Hearts don’t fix in perfect lines—
they curve, twist, and break again
before the light finally enters.
I walked a crooked path
hoping the pain would forget my name,
but it walked beside me like an old friend.
Yet somewhere...

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold...
        

Dust if you must, but wouldn’t it be better
To paint a picture, or write a letter,
Bake a cake, or plant a seed;
Ponder the difference between want and need?

Dust if you must, but there’s not much time,
With rivers to swim,...