I Don't Remember The Name Of This 2 Year Old Poem.

Walk down the lane of emotion,
The dust covers footprints of old.
Surrounded by gardens of souls,
Growing, in fields of gold.

Flowers speak words everywhere,
Spilling out secrets of men.
Lies to make up for theft,
Traps set in treason's den.

Red is the waistcoat of love,
Black is the shell covered hate.
Grey are the clouds of misfortune,
Shadowed, the will to create.
White are the seas of forgiveness,
Blue are the tears wept with sorrow.
Silver, the outcome of riches,
Gold, the true colour of the poor.

Dreams are the windows of hope.
Words, the foundation of truth.
Faith is the base built for wisdom,
Belief in the eyes of the youth.

War, the enemy of humanity,
Peace, the friend of mankind.
Lies, the base built for hate,
Lost, the true states of mind.

Sprout, you flowers of emotion,
Walk, you ageless trees.
Wait for them lies to decay,
And pray.

Fall down on your knees.

The Train

And I see sand.
Barren ground like,
Hearts grown blind to evidence.
Now, open up your eyes.

And the end does draw nearer,
But I am just beginning.

Unfold your mind.
The brushed metal from this rail.
Home to your oil.
Stain and stain and stain and stain.

Where have you gone?

There's no set destination.
Except an answer.

Look around you.
There's simply no-one at all.

Evidence staring at you.
And you staring at green lands.

Courage?

A footstop falls.
Breaking the silence.
Shattering the signature of secrets.

And ever-dwindling is the present,
Ever-remembered the past.
The future, ever-uncertain,
But the arduous struggle onwards rages on.

Sound. A belonging. A longing.
Sight. A longing. A need.
Hurt. A pain. A must.
Growth. A must. A need.

We're all afraid of what we don't understand.
Yet there's always an explanation.
And to conquer,
On we ride.

And to achieve,
On we ride.

A Two-way Ticket Over Life.

And to soar.
O'er the heads of the unweary.
Shut eyes, oblivious yet sore.
A nod after dawn,
Asleep to escape the unacceptable.

O'er the heads of mischief,
Minions to accomplish nothing.
Yet they bring grief and heavy hearts,
Waking unto the new morrow.

O'er the heads of the wise.
Dwelling in residences of moral.
Bringing the light upon minds,
To guide, and ward away errs.

O'er the heads of lovers,
Locked in promise and faith.
Silhouettes under the moonlight,
Beside some star-glazed lake.

O'er the mountains giants,
O'er the seas.
O'er the trees of beauty,
O'er the trees of shade.

O'er to the border of life.
O'er to the yet unexplored.
O'er to the non-stirring graves,
But a leaf rustles over agin.

O'er the non-stirring graves,
O'er the dust of men.
Yet all remember the names,
Of the blanketed.

To soar o'er fields of sorrow,
To soar o'er plains of pain.
To walk unfound o'er giants,
To sail across beauty and shade.

And to soar.
Soar o'er meadows of silence.

The Last Three Letters of Friend.

A conceded reality,
We live in.
Conceded in spontaneous talk and the likes.

All innovations fail,
To illuminate hidden beauty.
The skin remains to be judged.

Be it that retaliation were longer,
And reflex a little more,
Then all of us be in harm's way,
Yet all in alert friendship.

Be it so that failures are few,
Failures in realizing companions,
And all shall know friends.

Goodbye? PT II

Embedded in history,
Plated in memory,
Lies your lives and those you've changed.
The lives and attitudes you've changed,
Without saying a word.
The names you bear,
Made home in our minds.
Our leaders, our angels, our heroes.
Your courage that influences our walks.
Your footprints,
Invisible yet inspiring,
Your words made a difference.
Friends.

Reality?

Did the flowers really fade?
Is the meadow really livid?
Is there shadow on the glade?
Has the hoary pain gone vivid?
Are there no more tides to wade?

Has all the hope gone sour?
Has all the love gone waste?
Is all the trust now marred?
Do the sweet words have no taste?
Have all the kings no power?

Who'd have thought
The words were false,
But you who deemed them be?

Who'd have thought
That love secured,
Was love to be set free?