There's a spiritual war for our minds,
and sometimes we define the line,
the drive that breaks the small divide and let's the demons in our lives,
but we decide to make the choice that makes or breaks it,
this time, this life. So, I fall on my knees and pray that, someday,
I can understand the gifts that You gave
and the lives you had to take; I pray, but am I swayed?
'You ask and you shall receive,'
but I plead and plead, and yet do I receive.
Is this because I'm unworthy,
or could it be,
that I do not see the things that could free me from these burdens and trials,
to help me walk the miles?
We'll see.
There's a spiritual war for your mind and mine and I can say that I'll be fine,
but only if and when I choose the proper side,
this time.

I know the way you held the tears in,
How they swam like an ocean in your eyes,
But still you would not let them fall,
Didn't want anyone to see you cry.

And I know now why you kept such a straight face,
You told me one night when we were drunk.
You said that people look ugly when they cry,
And that you didn't want to ruin your make-up.

But your face wasn't all that crumpled on that cold December night,
No, you went flying through the wind shield,
there was no beauty, no dignity in that lost fight,
On the night that you were killed.


And I wish I could say that they miss you now,
But truth is you're just another pretty face,
Forgotten almost as soon as you hit the ground,
Almost a week from that cold December day.

So I'll write another poem about your vanity,
The price you paid to keep your pain in,
But I cannot write about beauty you see,
Because the line between beauty and tragedy,
Is only paper thin...