& love is an evil word. Turn it backwards/see, see what I mean? An evol word.
O Sailor!It__ the way I want to beIt__ beyond the pale for meIt__ what being unknown is all aboutIt__ the path I choose to takeIt__ the destiny I makeIt__ my life now _ the only way outOut of circulation in another dimensionI carry you right inside my heartAs we__e one, moulded togetherAlways and forever, never apartIt__ a world where I__ aloneIt__ a place where I can atoneIt__ a severing of all ties I knowI feel so free and yet I__ boundI__ invisible and yet aroundI know I__e got to go with the flowMy life now is like a sailboat ride,Destiny is the wind _ with you by my side,I__ the sailor, who sets the course,Empowered by an incredible force.
Faceless The Only Way Out
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O Sailor!It__ the way I want to beIt__ beyond the pale for meIt__ what being unknown is all aboutIt__ the path I choose to takeIt__ the destiny I makeIt__ my life now _ the only way outOut of circulation in another dimensionI carry you right inside my heartAs we__e one, moulded togetherAlways and forever, never apartIt__ a world where I__ aloneIt__ a place where I can atoneIt__ a severing of all ties I knowI feel so free and yet I__ boundI__ invisible and yet aroundI know I__e got to go with the flowMy life now is like a sailboat ride,Destiny is the wind _ with you by my side,I__ the sailor, who sets the course,Empowered by an incredible force.
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You must be a light unto yourself.
In the moonlight and under the stars Somehow your face seems clearer I revere your presence and remember We are warriors Thrusted onto this plane We are strong We must use our strength While bearing compassionIt's easy to get lost This place makes it so easy to get lost But- In the moonlight and under the stars Somehow your presence seems clearer And I remember We are warriors
I do understand that they fall when I'm least able to pay attention because poems fall not from a tree, really, but from the richly pollinated boughs of an ordinary life, buzzing, as lives do, with clamor and glory. They are easy to miss but everywhere: poetry just is, whether we revere it or try to put it in prison. It is elementary grace, communicated from one soul to another.
As long as music survives, poetry will never die.
Great writers experience their dreams. They put them on paper, where others can read about them.