is the written word just as real
as when it is written
in blood and ink and paper,
as it is
when it is written
in phosphorous and light?

One night my mother
and I were in church praying.
I couldn't concentrate,
all I could hear were
squeaking pews, people coughing,
paper rustling.
So I went outside and stood in the pouring rain,
letting large drops fall on my
head then run down my face,
and I felt God
there.


--trakie (from b l a t h e r)

God gave me a Mind, a Soul and a Body. You give me a Purpose.

Damn im so corny :p

I sit here locked inside my head,
Remembering everything you said,
The silence gets us no where,
Gets us no where,
Way to fast.

--Staind

We all grow up, and as some find themselves, others loose themselves more and more, in the great pool that is reality. Which are you? Which am I?

There was something in my mind the other day, a line, i wished to post, to see in writing, i looked around and couldnt find a pen... so i saved it away in my treasure chest of words, somewhere in my head - too lazy to go and find one. And once again, as in inevitable, i now sit with a pen between my fingers; A paper under my hand, and my mind is empty.

Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

-- William Butler Yeats