☙ Neverland ☙

They speak of a place where dreams run deep,

And magic, from every crack, does seep.

They say it's a place where we'll be free;
A place where all Lost kids should be.

A mystic land ruled by Peter Pan,
I doubt we'll leave, although we can.

With deep blue seas and golden sand,
We'll stay forever, in Neverland.

♫ Moosic ♫

Tis times when Darkness blankets all,

And Flame bursts forth from caverns deep,

When music, with her swaying song,

Doth lend us life in times of need.

People and Air Fresheners

People are like air fresheners.

Some are like "vanilla," or "cupcake."

They're super sweet at first,

And then they're sickening.

Then you want to throw them out.

Some are like "cotton," or "rain."

Almost invisible, and you can hardly tell they're there,

But suddenly, your whole bathroom just smells nice.

Then some people are like "cashmere," and "pumpkin spice,"

And they smell super friendly and cozy,

And make you want to sit there forever.

But then sometimes they get too friendly,

And too close to your memories and old nostalgia.

And then you wanna get rid of them too.

Life would be nice if people were air fresheners

And you'd know exactly what kind you wanted.

Then our bathrooms would always smell nice.

Here I Lie

Tick, tock, the clock runs on,

Creeping towards the crack of dawn.

But here I lie, a restless mind,

Searching for the answers that I can't find.

Wonder

They call it "childish wonder,"

But what they cannot see, is

We're all children of the Earth,

And wonder, that we do.

~Flower Children~

A leaf, a twig, a rock, a rose.

Open your heart and hear our prose.

We are neither here nor there,

If only a presence in the air.

But we build mountains, spin the breeze,

Walk 'midst frozen silver trees.

We write backwards upside down,

Unspoken rulers sans our crowns.

We dwell in lakes and on the beach,

Always there just out of reach.

Cherished myths from tales of old,

We dance forever in fields of gold.

Grey

Grey is quiet thinking on a cloudy day,
the soft taps of rain on the window pane.

Grey is somber apathy,
the brush of a passing stranger.

Grey is a rambling down secluded streets,
the crack of gravel underfoot.

And the numbness when your tears run dry,
that's gray too.

And So The Clock Strikes Twelve

So she arrives; and odd, fleeting hour.

Amidst times past and times to come.

As now, faintly, strange things scuffle about;

And creatures of the night come out.

As a strange, hushed Silence pervades the air,

The branches moan in their despair.

As hushed whispers, never heard in this room,

Are present in the gath'ring gloom.

As the desperate, pale, ghostly light grows weak,

The full moon rises to its peak.

As the clock tolls and echoes through the house,

Twelve chimes; the shadow of a mouse.

So comes Midnight, peculiar, peaceful pocket of time,

Between an everlasting past and a future soon to come.

Moving

It starts with boxes.

And it builds.

Loans are settled,

Money is paid.

Room after room,

My old life disappears.

Here come the trucks.

Couches are wrapped,

The house is bare.

Then comes the waiting.

In an empty home,

Hollow and dark;

Echoes of the past.

To escape to a new place.

Strange and cold.

Five nights of sleeping on a couch,

And aching backs and sore muscles.

And new furniture arrives,

White and new and clean.

These days are riddled with

Headaches and sleepless nights.

Then everything stops and settles;

A pensive silence returns.

And thus a new life begins.