I don't know what I liked better,
About the days of summer past.
When I am old and memories fail,
My summer memories will last.

I don't know what I liked better,
Her golden hair or golden wheat.
The wind would play with them both,
Sending shivers from head to feet.

I watched them both for hours on end,
Falling in love just a little more.
The open spaces and her freedom then,
Feelings that I know will endure.

I don't know which I liked better,
The forest or her laughter.
The way we would run through barefoot,
Her giddiness driving me faster.

We wore paths into that forest,
I think we climbed most every tree.
Through the branches tickling each other,
She was all that I could see.

I don't know which I liked better,
Wildflowers or the look in her eyes.
As she lay there in the sea of white,
Staring up into bluest skies.

The petals would fall into her hair,
Granting glory to them both.
She named the shapes of every cloud,
Weaving stories as she spoke.

I don't know which I liked better,
The cold creek or her warm bare skin.
I remember how both felt sublime,
When she called me to jump in.

The tingle of the little fish,
Or the sight of her standing free.
Electrifying my entire body,
When she swam over to me.

I don't know which I liked better,
The wild blackberries or her lips.
Both so sweet and so tender,
A taste I truly miss.

The way we forged through those brambles,
To find them growing wild and free.
The same way she seemed to find,
Something wild inside of me.

I don't know which I liked better,
Her warmth or the hay in the loft.
In the barn on freshest straw,
No other place feels as soft.

I loved how she would toss her head,
And the straw would tumble out.
Then she would jump into a new stack,
Leaping free of any doubt.

I don't know which I liked better,
The sound of night or her gentle breathing.
The owls and frogs would sound their songs,
To the tune of her nighttime dreaming.

I would lie awake just to listen,
Aware of every single tiny sound.
Her breath against my neck,
As each new moon was crowned.

I don't know which I liked better,
Watcher her or watching the stars.
They both seemed so bright and full,
That summer, neither was far.

She would **** in her breath,
When a streak would appear across the sky.
She would tell me to make a wish,
I'd wish the summer to never die.

I don't know what I liked better,
About the days of summer past.
The happiest days of my entire life,
The memories that I know will last.

the pride of the pack was born an outcast
but there comes a time
when the alter becomes the ego
imagine the masks as spotlights
they alight a path but are more show than moral
the stage has been set for a play
a 10 character monologue
schizophrenia is the curtain
able to unveil applause

This Is Life

with an 80 year run time
shorter if you break a leg
                                                             you will wish for luck to strike you
you will wish to strike the set                                                          
   ­  you will wish to set the stage on fire
but passion strikes less than ad libs
you will learn to improvise
to take cues and act accordingly
the best leaders always do
cadence and countenance                                                
     ­                          cadence and countenance
cadence and countenance  
these are the two C's to making the cast
but try as you might
you cannot change what you were born into
you are an outcast
the best leaders always are
and that is why you deserve the spotlight
take your mark
~ front and center ~
remove your masks
and take a bow