Nothing

I see everything

I see nothing

I see everything
and nothing   

I am the new one.
The old one.
The young one that grows old inside.  

A grain amongst the shingle,  
A leaf thats turned to mulch,
An acorn ripe for harvest
Deemed to have grown too much. 
For I am of the sky
As I fly down the broken runway.
Swaying through half waking dream
And sleep walking through the day

I know everything about you,
but I can’t fathom you at all.

How The Light Gets In

Promise, drifting in the waters.
Distance, leaving
what has been
never been
never will be

time constricted
contracted
expanded
dependent

there’s a break in everything, that’s how the light gets in

breathless, brightness
sleepless nightless,
timeless, tiredless
Morning lightness

time constricted
contracted
expanded
dependent

there’s a break in everything, that’s how the light gets in

Lady Luna

How proudly you hang there in the sky,
Watching the world as it passes you by
Looking down on us, totally judgeless
Of all that you see in your gleaming glass eye

And as you wait there so patiently,
Guarding our den of inequity,
You wink at us slowly, so humble, so lowly,
Knowingly, cloudily, luminously

Lady, Luna
Wrapped up in your endless blue shawl
You’re ever present, even when cresent,
Queen of the night and a mother to all

How many songs have been written for you?
How many of those do you hear?
How do you listen, up there in your prison,
To our words of loving comparison

And when there is nothing left to mine,
Into your great bosom we’ll climb
But until then, only few men,
Can actually say that they know you shine

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Question

If wax and wick had not been fused                                 And from the seams not coal exhumed
Could there have been some other means
To light our way, to fuel our dreams?

If there was some other form                                            That as of yet had not been drawn,
Would our wheels still tread the ground,
If this alternate mould were found?

Question question always question
To question is a lethal weapon
Question question always question 
To question breathes a reinvention
Question question always question
To question is a lethal weapon

And, if man from some distant line
Had not sculpted the hands of time    
But softly let our history pass
Through amorphous hour-glass    

Would we feel the stress and strain
If each second of life’s refrain, was not counted so thoroughly, 
Reeking of mortality?

Could history wear a fairer face
And occupy a gentler space.