a downpour
the season in which I was born,
baby shower- we made a pond,
now let's insert a pun...
oh wait, it's already done
but it was a bad one

i guess i'm still wet behind the ears..
oh **** another one, slip of the tongue, and i'm all washed up from the stress

it's absurd but i'm drowning in the rain- a bad metaphor for negative over thinking maybe.
though by the way i have a paper heart and i'm stuck in the rain, won't anyone save me? guess not

i'll get high with my words just to fill a hole of emptiness brought by confusion and doubt, to blur out noises from outside with noises from the inside, a distraction through a mute facade of confidence and an assurance to myself that i am okay.

it's convoluted i know; from making puns to emotional grunts, it doesn't make sense- i don't make sense

the
ones
i love
drip slowly.
when out
of Water.
each drop
takes the
sun's heart
away.
for reflecting
what's
up of
down.

There’s an old run down house

On the corner of the street 5 blocks down

They say you can hear the angels sing

Singing songs

And I drove past it the other day

But all I could hear was the sound of the radio

Playing songs of the past

Maybe this is what they meant

And she walks around handing out daisies for a pound

Smelling of washing powder and soap

Loaning people compliments as well

Which is their’s to choose if they keep it

Or see it as another false statement

A reason to give her a half smile and then walk on

The streets keep whispering

Ghosts roam them too

A little girl was here just the other day

Who decided that life was just another game

That she had grown tired of playing

At only sixteen, drink and drugs seemed like the best choice

And each cigarette that she well knew took a day away from her life

Was a sweet kiss of relief in her eyes

He sits on the sandy banks of the river

Guitar in hand, this is what he does for a living

Playing music to strangers

Because in his head, a song can make all the difference to the day

Rain doesn’t stop him because he knows

And if you keep looking in the corners of these concrete jungles

You’ll find letters written

From lovers

And from people trying to search for something

But who got lost on the way and no longer know

What they’re looking for

You’ll hear the people in the walls of the Church

Spilling gospel off their tongues

Trying to paint the walls with art and words from their Holy Book

Which gives them all strength to stand and sing on

Even if underneath they’re breaking bones

Each four compass points

Are meant to direct you

But In some ways even if we know the right way to go

We’re all still wandering on

We all have our aims

But our limbs are getting sore

Yet we keep walking and striding on

If you look up into the sky at night

You’re met with a billion other eyes

Yet none of us can see

None of us can feel

That we’re not alone

Unless someone’s hand is wrapped in ours

We adore this false sense of hope

That living amongst all this material

We can try and make something

Out of all the scraps

To try and fulfill our unknown roles

That comes with existing on Earth

And we keep searching for a meaning

In this God forsaken world

It keeps turning and spinning under our feet

But we never stop to try and feel it

.
I am an island child,
Of dire rocks and thistle,
Clear lake and lone skies,
Of bonny birds who whistle,
I race the strands with tides,
Waiting for my lad to meet,
So lonely are the night stars
I dreamt in my loft to sleep,
Far is the isle of my mind,
To slip away on new voyage,
Near is the sorrow into kind,
As I wait for keep in marriage.
.