If you happened to be floating down this river where i sit twenty minutes past twelve on this early afternoon friday you would see writing about you.

and if you could see me at quarter to twelve staring blankly at this digital screen you would see a man trying to set himself free through the tap of some keys but yet still confined to the jail cell of his mind.

Everything

My brightness of the sun
The beating to my drum
My future yet to come
You are my one.

The one who keeps me calm
And tells me to be strong
When everything feels wrong
You keep a hold of my palm.

You are the angel to my wing
My favorite name to sing
And this feeling you bring
Is worth everything.

Everything that i know
You taught me long ago
Now I whisper slow
"Please never let go."

Six Word Story #1

Perfection.
That is all for now.

There is no stress or no relief like the feeling of love. That long obsolete but world changing device that can ground the strongest of brutes and ascend the weakest into god-ship  We are born with nothing and die with nothing but love. We chase it, throw it away, live for the pain it causes us but also for the way it heals that same pain. We love, we lose, we live. And it is the way that we continue to live that allows us to continue to love.

Imagine a place, A stretch of land, A great stretch, not congested with roads and highways. One that wasn't dotted with large cities, only small towns and settlements, A place where man is free to wander and explore, Where he can travel and live on his own terms. Where it is his job to protect himself and he learns to stand his own. Now imagine the positive effects such a place would have. There would be much less pollution, more nature, and the opportunity to live a life filled with adventure and completeness. This place is my heaven and the yearning in my heart for the open roaming and adventure is my god. I just pray that someday we can have a place like this, and not just a concrete slab filled with steel and cold souls.

Butane

There is nothing quite like the flame of a butane lighter.
That half natural, half manufactured light that burns as bright as the gates of Hell,
Or as dim as the last few seconds of a flashlights life,
At night, it can make the darkest shadows cower in the flames beautiful dance,
But in the day, it just blends in with the light of the world,
And gets blown out with one brush of the wind.

Life is...
The philosophy of photography,
The psychology of biology,
The chemistry of ...wait...
We live life and we live death,
Because we are living death,
For every second that we live a part of us dies,
We live for those dead parts,
Be it family, friends, or mentalities,
Yes, our mentalities die,
We grow, We live, and we out grow the things that we used to obsess over,
We get new hobbies, new loves, new passions, and of course new mentalities,
And in return the old ones tend to fade away as do gravestones after years of weather,
Sometimes they are brought back, resurrected,
But others, no matter how bad we wish and pray for their return,
The never do,
They just stay in a lonely eternal slumber,
forever wondering where you went.