I never saw a man who looked
with such a wistful eye
upon that little tent of blue
which prisoners called the sky,
and at every drifting cloud that went
with sails of sliver by.

I walked, with other souls in pain,
within another ring,
and was wondering if the man had done
a great or a little thing,
when a voice behind me said,
"The man's got to swing"

For he did not wear scarlet
nor did he speak of it,
for blood and wine were red
and so was the color on his bed.

He looked upon the garish day
with such a wistful eye;
the man had killed the thing he loved,
and so he had to die.

Every night he’d count his lucky stars,
But he could never get past zero.

He curled against the city streets,
Nothing to drink, nothing to eat.

He had no one.
No one to make him feel like the sky was only being held up
because they existed.
Every single day he searched
For a reason to be alive.

Painting a smile on his face
As he stared at the flowers.
“Aren’t they beautiful?”
Telling himself he loved the sky and its stars,
Pleading with himself to find enjoyment in something. Anything.
Because he was scared if he didn’t find something,
He wouldn’t be living anymore.

He was the withering flower on the sidewalk,
He sat in people’s shadows
And never felt the sunlight on his skin.

Goosebumps spiked on his bare arms,
The light in the windows looked so warm.
Soft gold…
The radiant glow of guaranteed survival.

Every night he’d count his lucky stars,
But he could never get past zero.

Snow fell today and cleansed the ground, in a shroud of white.
As quickly as the snow came it disappeared.
As quickly as the ground was made clean
it was dirtied by the living.
Dirt, fumes and car tracks sullied the linen white earth.
Nothing stayed today,
not the snow,
not the footprints,
not the cold wind blown faces of children.
Nothing good can stay.
But, for an hour the ground and day became pristine.
A cold, weak sun shone on the glittering snow
Like the first winter snowdrops promising a spring,
weak  winter sun promised better days.
Snowdrops the striking bloom of the winter months,
lifted up their delicate heads in a blanket of blue white drops.
So, snow fell like spilt milk, and snow melted away.
But, the snowdrops ‘milk flower of the snow’ stayed.

Ever been so in love you cant sleep? The idea of ending a conversation with the person beside you is incredibly sad. You want to know every thought and feeling theyve had throughout their day. Are they growing? Have they been challenged? Do they need your love or comfort? And there is something beautiful about the way they listen. They show you a different side to your own thoughts. And they are proud of your growth too. Theres no way to show them exactly what they mean to you. But I hope to god they understand anyway.

Even when the conversation is over, your person is so beautiful when they sleep. You cant help but be glad that in this crazy world, there is a few hours of peace and rest to protect this one. A time that separates the nasty events of the past day, and offers a new beginning when they wake. Every new day is another chance for the world to see their light.

And in the time before I fall asleep, I can fully appreciate him. Im glad I didnt miss this moment.

You won't forget me,
Like the back of your hand.
You never truly will.
I assure you with everything I am.

Because I am the song you've never heard;
The book you've never read;
The painting you've never looked at;
The one you've never thought of in your head.

I am the sea you've never swam in,
Or the keys you've never played.
I am the star you've never wished upon,
Or the prayer you've never made.

I am the dawn you've never seen,
The pillow you've never had at night;
I am the door you've never opened;
The glasses you've never used for sight.

As I came to know and realize
You like the back of my hand;
Knowing you exist, in my eyes,
I assure you with everything I am:

I never truly will,
That I will never forget you too.
But you've never known me in the first place,
So it was never the same for you.

Two paths sprawl out in front of you.
Both identical.
Both unforgiving.
A wisp of opportunity caught in the belligerent breeze. Both could mould your perception and life

You choose one, as you walk further, the end of the path seals itself; in a tight unforgiving knot.

Further and further, wistfulness and curiosity descended upon you, plunging its claws and whispering, seeding itself in your mind.

You peek over the divide however the other path has disappeared, travelled upon the wind.

As you saw the end of your path, the storm clouds of regret rolled and boomed, rain drops of sorrow cascading against you.

When looking back you saw only an impenetrable knot