---------------------------------------------------------------------- This is Not Mine
Hold your breath

t's not the flowery promises i hear
the soft spoken affection twirling in the moonlight
i'm listening
to the breaths between the beats of your lyrics
sitting deep while the silence is booming

a soft, short, sweet inhale
and you've consumed me without hesitation or effort
i'm left free falling, floating
waiting to roll off your tongue

until that last bold exhale
i revel in your unspoken, unrealized perfection
touching fingertip to fingertip
eyes bright, hand on your pounding heart

---------------------------------------------------------------------- Below is Mine

As it pounds...
its flowing like a river of rhythm,
and it slows down to let a new soul, whose rising to believe hymn...

and the butterfly's jump from the inside,
as if tomorrow is already alive in the beauty of their mind.
like time has already prescribed a treatment of the best kind...

this tomorrow is mine....

I'm struggling to walk blindly into your unwinding...
without consequence of my own lion's heartbreak, re-aligning.

Yet, so simple a kiss, your rembrance of bliss,
a past of a timeless abyss... the question is...

tomorrow, are you his...

...

and would it be a crime to steal the thoughts in your mind,
if so, arrest me... i'll be blissfully confined....
and can you look at me, direct into my eyes,
or like mine, is your heart stuck with no more goodbyes...

I decided to write some mo...
thanks fo the inspiration...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I miss Love...

In a world where Yin & Yang represent every reaction towards each action.
stop re-acting I say...
I've heard somewhere love cannot be known without knowing its equal oposite.
Dat's Phooey!

Love is action without the reaction. It's my intuition guided by passion.
Love is almost too powerful for words, but with one syllable, its heard.
Love is yearning to anchor present time, and how to learn with a quiet mind.
Love is to search for something new, the unconditional search for you.

Love can be opposite people... living in an imaginary world.
Love can be a 5 year old... being tickled by a pretty girl.
Love can be just one moment or can be 50 years of harmony.
Love can be a blind poet... and with every word, he can see.

Love will be expressions of kindness, alone, it's our only obsession,
Love will be me, feeling free to face you with my every confession.
Love will be "us" it doesn't matter how long the duration...
Love will be an old soul, it's me re-living every sensation.

Love is a mystery that needs no unfolding...
Love is our way to communicate with every word evolving
And love is this thing everyone is searching for...
I've found love... and I ... I Want More...

I Miss Love...

Is dedication on the same level as passion? A question I am now faced with...
Spending the majority of my life on something so simple yet so complex...
So I ask, is dedication my ability to control time or is this... time controlling me... to subconsciously create passion?

The one thing I speak of is music...
My life has been engulfed with dedication AND passion towards music...
Until now I have thought the two were the same.
I recently have been faced with decifering the difference... and let me tell you... ignorance is bliss...

But not completely... Now I can see what isnt dedication,
thanks to a couple decisions from a passion filled brother of mine.
So now I must step up and stand tall with my newly defined description of time.
I will make sure to express my appreciation to those who dedicate their passion along my side.

So all said and done the actions come next...

Wide awake in a world that seams so real
as my eyes paint the night into every sensation I feel.
chosen was a moment so familiar but brand new
we are connected again as i'm dreaming this true.

so I pretend to relive something that hasnt happened
filled with smiles and laughter and unspoken passion
and the depth in your detail which I strongly remember
its your every move slowly making my december

And as the hours passed the light grew stronger
my memory of this night fades...
but like any painting I see, there are things I remember
and this time its where your head had laid.