A breeze swept through the room-
much like the jet stream would
the midwestern states, interrupted
by chills bent and mangled to frost.
My CD player ran most the night
but landed on one song that I tend
to always register interest to-
"Boston" by Augustana
I find a photograph of an old friend-
or should I say the woman (that in
the best interest of me) I hide feelings for-
"I love her not, bitter I am
heartless and stone-"
in repetition I say over and over,
words have a way of coersing
the soul of something if
repeated enough
but dreams- and all their infinite
wonders and capabilities
allow a wounded soul to grasp
bliss once more kiss the stars
nestled in a blanket
that in reality, are scattered throughout
the universe in random supernova
To fly isnt the challenge,
to land light is the impossible
because it always leaves a scar or two
on the soul if not the body,
in the heart if not the mind
I fear flight even in dreams-
so what is the use of living beyond
gravity? She lies there, still-
a fantasy built by all the memories
I've collected and breath until an
ultimate high
even then, do I stand,
dumbfounded by beauty, by poison,
by idea.
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