the little words
Friendwhip.
back again, with pulse. Another dose, with neverhelp, and to what edge does the ending come if never-touching is what to become. So when we write, we do it right and then we ride, and never fight the hands that wring, sing tra la la and nothing feeling is summer fun. To each of us we owe a reckoning but which of who will step up to gain.
The blown-in wind.
in turpentine I find myself washing all my hands
in a world to bring the breathing in
and share it with my friends.
its a sight to see the opening that never will begin
when the waiting meets the coming wind,
just hold on while you can.
a gale will blow as fingers cling
like grains of falling sand
one by one they all let go
and pile up where they land
the send-off, that in advance was planned
is rushed now, and gaining pace
where then, do you put the words
when the words each have no place.
one by one
they become
nothing, but an annoyance.Another Gut Feeling.
The landscape that I have never seen before
is dark dark dark for the valleys
and bright bright bright for the fjords.
the hills that come around it all
should be seen by all.
gather up, put your dukes forward
and we together will conquer the world
hand in hand, friend in arm
we will conquer the world.
Without this hope we never could.
from here though, we stand the most solid chance.
we make the most strongest stance.
While we brace
with the most powerful branch
with every arm out holding each other up.
I should have told you from the start
that I knew how this would end.
ready your dukes.
Stick on the ice.
the world is different now around we go, around we go every spin, watching out duck down low, duck down low. I've climbed the highs, drudged the downs kept my balance while it all worked out until here and now is all we have and I know, front to back, only that is all it's ever been why was there ever a thought of anything more? there is no exit here. there is no light at the end of any tunnel there is only the time we haven't spent yet that we can't trade in for the newer model. keep your tires on the road your stickontheice and you're bound to be alright. I guess.
A Weirdest.
To when do we come up, it never is but breathing gets colder as we near and closer gets our fingertips, while we do one by one-est, hup hup hup we arrive in line a single file good time rivaled by none. So the closing door that I keep open with my one good foot is a walkway to somewhere once upon a time, back then. In between comes things that I never did know that I could want But still become anyway The rungs that those good feet leave behind are one step closer to the earth than we are as we walk far from the free world that holds us down. hup hup hup climb.
Dont let the trust out.
A change is baked into the everyday of ways
that things will never stay the same
And so we try to stray, but pulled back we become
I'll twiddle my thumbs while I wait to see what takes place
The avenue we came down on is not the one we might leave
but different roads for different folks,
different roads make different forks,
and different forks, well, you know.
The undeniability of the difference
is that without anything not being the same
you must understand that someone will eventually need to take the blame.
And I call not-it.The Winter Is.
The winter touch does one of and each of them is a coming-up from. and to the climb that becomes the wrists and hands as well as the feet and lungs which hardened the fingers that grab to hold the cliffs that at most are one-at-a-time-let go's let go. do hold on, If you don't, I'll let them know. It sure is colder now that the winter has come.
A small amount at a time.
an alarm is waged
and the fire is the same
come up from here
come up from here
there is nothing to be changed
but the wired and the brave
come up from here
come up from here
The final place to be washed away
is to come up in, to the whirling wind
while the steps down to,
where we've nothing to do
and I'll make my peace in that place.
Come up from here.Arose a fire.
Arose a flame, a rose of fire and the liars lined up to see the burn. The world got worse under those years that kept us all inside but we survived, et tu divide and no longer do we rely on the old paths that we still ride in the hope to hear that our climbing fears are stronger, making us still. As is something ever will.
New BlackPowder.
It has been a long climb through the snow
down a road I know so well
that I have known my entire life
but have never seen before tonight
to a building so cold and small
with walls my family calls home
my dad is there keeping it warm
and always has been, to kept the harm at bay,
that otherwise might make it in
I feel a regular amount of familiar
with my cold and wet feet below me
as I approach the closed, but welcoming door
of a home that I know will keep me warm
so long as I adjust what it means
to be kept warm
What I seek, I will have it there
at the place on the other side of the knee deep snow
where I arrived at by coming down some overgrown roads
that on a map, didn't even show
but in my mind, and my heart, and the forefront of my being
I will always understand
That this will be the most comfortable place that I can get
without doing it on my own.
We will kill animals to eat here.
We will buy bullets for now,
Until I learn to craft the black powder myself