Friday, November 30, 2007

a father and the sun.

when i awake
i see the morning entirely
the mountains are cold
but they'll make this day grow
it will flow up from the ground
with the sunrise

i am a father to the newborn sky
and we will rise together like a family

and when the day is done
i'll die

then cleanse myself
in the mornings foggy eyes

One Great City

when smoke retreats to beautiful fair skin
what is left is whats within
wish it was the summer's daze
but there is only a winter haze
which follows me to death's bedside
and asks the question, 'whats inside?'