.The storm clouds are my pillows and I drive to the heart of them, wrapped in lightning and rainThe mountains offer me sleep, quiet, dark, and their dim music beats on my ears like the drums of the distant pastAnd as I blink in and out I let my face hit the window, singing along and forgetting how to hurt for a minute (maybe an eon)The rumbles of the thunder above and beneath me are clean and comfort, blankets in clouds and the miles rolling bySleep descends and I am not safe, but sheltered through Kansas and Boston, through the journey and the rush of the raindrops a hair's breadth from my eyes
PSATo whoever reads these words, remember them. Read them silently, read them aloud, repeat them until you can see them permanently burned into the backs of your eyelids and they become your mantra:There is always hope.In the worst places and the darkest times, there is still hope. No storm cloud on the planet is immune to stars or sunlight peeking through. Every cave has an exit, every night gives way to daybreak, and every demon can be beaten down.As the roaring wildfire must always give way to the gentle rain, so too does despair inevitably sputter and die in the face of hope. Until its cataclysmic dying day, this world will always contain hope. As long as you are alive, there is hope aplenty for tomorrow and all the days after it.Do not forget my words. Do not ignore them, laugh them bitterly away, or let your fear overcome them. I speak of a simple truth that should never be forgotten.The one thing all our heroes have in common is that when everything falls apart and the world s
SpentThe silence reverberates in four part timeWhen you realize you're all aloneAnd the snow falls about you to blanket the soundOf you choking upon your own throatIt's over, it's finished; you're spent and betrayedYou just want to lie down, get some restSo you curl up your body like dead spider legsAnd the gentle snow takes you to sleep.
CoinsGolden leaves float to the water's surface, coins for the dead.May they find safe passage to the worlds beyond.
SharptongueSharp tongue,burning wit,speak the piercing truth.Wound with words and deadly gaze -unstoppable, uncouth.Forgotten skeletons laid bare,shot with vicious voice;fire in the soul and heartto cut down needless noise.
MidwinterChill in the midwinter air,dark is the night skyHeavy clouds above reflectthe fire in your eyesTread across the icy groundas North Wind softly sighsGiant's bones will hide youin the mountain's sheltered lie
PrayerPlace your poemson the lips of angelsso you can teach their wingshow it feels to flyalways upward.Mark the summer eveningssoon to comewith the gracethat carried youamong us,warm and cherished softlyand know we will always placeyour wordsamong the stars.
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead. It isn’t true. It’s said the stench of hell infects the earthand healths of heated blood are downed. But Hamlet lied. The dead know nothing, the living less. There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
The ArtistShe talked to rocks, asking them if they’d be happyTo leave their home for her newest installation pieceShe cried sometimes for no reason other thanShe felt like having a good cryHer house was covered in her students’ drawingsShe said the best art was produced from innocenceShe went mad once, and painted canvas after canvasIn furious strokes of blackThe soft blue world of youth at last faded, she grew oldPeople shook their heads when they saw herAnd whispered “poor dear” under their breathBut she was never poorHer love for everything and everyone never diedIt was swept in all directions like a summer breezeMaking people smile without knowing whyBut the river rocks know
RememberDon't close your heartTo the worldEven if it's cruelDon't see emotionsAs a sign of weaknessNo matter what others sayDon't ignoreThe ones in needHelp them insteadDon't thinkYou have to be toughTo be someoneAnd before you judge othersFor their issues and problemsRememberAlways rememberThe burdened heartsAre the most compassionate ones
RIP Paul Gray SlipknotPaul Gray:You were 38 years youngbut you've passed away.You have joined the Rev,Dimebag, Peter Steeleand Ronnie James Dio.Wherever you are,you are rocking out.Together you'll makeone hell of a band!While you rest in peace -look over your wife Brenna,and the babyyou were expecting.The pig,as you were knownfor your maskresembled one -you cannot be replaced.Slipknot, have hit the knot;Things will never be the sameagain.RIP Paul GrayApril 8, 1972 May 24, 2010
little thingsglint of eyes,sound in the epiglottis,a fidgeting footand lips twitchingdemarcations and denotations of meaningrhythms and complexities, playingmommy and daddy make babiesbut the little things make life.