Standing at the peak of the mountain
staring down at your rebeling domain...

No matter what plays with your sight
forget whatever it may do to you...

Glass clouds surround each person
as they primly walk through life...

One:
You say God crys...

Another one of make things beautiful poems.
emerald green, oblong...

I am the chalk on that dark driveway,
drowned in the torents of rain...

My dear come touch me, hold me
why are you so far away...

Empty room filled with nothing
wooden chairs, black wood desk...

She remembers the kisses
remembers the touches...

Each flicker of my eyelids
Each breath makes its entry...

The wind holds the power
to carry the lowest soul...

You used to look at me
in a way that made me shiver...