Are you sad?
Afraid?
Alone?
Your suffering casts phantoms on the wall
And they dance with all the others.
I am telling you
That there is no light at the end of the tunnel.
We are each other's light,
And each of us is full of shadows.
We make do. We are only
Candles.
We flicker.
Sometimes we create more confusion
Than illumination.
But we need one another,
Because we hold a flame up
To the dark parts of the people we venture near.
We set fire to things that
Wait long in silence,
Yearning to combust,
And bring light to things
That have been hidden for long enough
To be thickly caked with dust.

Once again,
once again,
I fly away to Neverland
but this time I'm not the only one pretending to be Peter Pan.
Once again
as I ascend
I see a soul that hates a life seemingly driven to just unbend.

Songs behind bars are worth more than songs behind altars
and feet stumbling forward will not learn unless they falter.
A tripping to the dirt will teach us all to fly away.
You deserve to fly as much as anyone
and if you close your eyes and sing the song that made you free
I promise the sky will truly be the limit.

I am a ghost who loves the stumbling and you are a soul who braces for rumbling
but if I gave you a flower at midnight will you promise to stop the crumbling...?
At least for a moment...

If I could be the reflection in your mirror
for a minute or two,
I'd make you see the loveliness in you.

Unfortunately I am just a boy so I guess I'll just throw paper airplane compliments in the hope you catch them before it starts to rain.

Don't let your chin point toward the ground,
don't let the tears cause you to drown...
Just turn a grimace upside down
and let that smile become a crown,

because it fits your head perfectly...

Once again,
once again.
I am watching the twinkling in Neverland
with my toes digging softly into the sand.
Once again,
but with a friend,
I'm sailing the waves beyond this land,
and perhaps for a night we both can pretend to be
Peter Pan..

Purple clouds are hanging over my head and fingers are beckoning me to the bed.
I am running with ropes tied around my legs attempting to escape from useless dread.
I struck a match with violet flame but wasn't ready to play this game.
Too late to turn back now.  
Better douse my body in gasoline and become a velvet lantern.

roses are red, violets are blue
sugar is sweet, and perhaps so are you
now the roses have wilted, the violets dead
the sugar bowl's empty, and my wrist are stained red,
the sun isn't shining, the skies aren't clear
there's no silver lining, cause your no longer here
rain keeps on pouring, there's no end in sight
your laying there frozen, so far from the light
your beauty's unreal, your smile the sun
but time cant be turned, nor your actions undone
the words that you wrote, which only I read
"I love you so much; please don't cry when I'm dead"
a bond that we formed, a love that ran deep
a pain that we shared, a friend I could keep
I wanted to hold you, wipe the tears from your eyes
been there the moment you said you goodbye
I want to forget but most times I don't
I want to let go but I know I wont
tears on my face, memories burned in my head
the roses have wilted, the violets are dead

The first snowflake of winter fell onto her russet locks,
settled with a place to rest
but she reached her hands up in a fumble
and pulled them from the tangled mess
they melted in her palm,
and became little puddles of  n o s t a l g i a

I am a soul, woven into the floorboards of a house that once carried people, but now carries dust. I lay with secrets and lies buried deep below the footprints left behind.
I have little hope that time will be regained and if I have to —with remorse and regret— I will piece the tiny fragments of hostility back together until my skin rubs raw and my fingers bleed—
as it was I who so selfishly drove the life away.

Like a screen, so horribly attached to the wall, a life is played from start to finish, and I wonder—ponder of prospects;
was I crazy? —or— could I still be?
The dust bunnies, hidden below splinted furniture, the spiders, in their silken webs, and other souls that lay at rest seem to laugh at the screen.
Are they laughing at me? —or— could they be seeing something different, like their own, drab lives?

Silence consumes me suddenly and I feel weightless—
like an octopus floating dreamily and subtly through the depths of the sea
There is no laughter —no screen can be seen anymore hanging on the wall that has holes though it and no life is playing before my tired eyes.
Like an apocalypse, the outside is dark and grim, and it is hot and sticky —like the days in summer where it rains.
Like an apocalypse, I hear no noise, I see no movement and I smell nothing.
But coming from a soul, so rapidly left behind, who’d expect anything more?

After Li Po

While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played at the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.

At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.

At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the lookout?

At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.

You dragged your feet when you went out,
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden;
They hurt me.  I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
    As far as Cho-fu-sa.