within

beauty lives within
you and me
if we'd only take the time to see
how great it is to be who we are
but instead we chase after shooting stars
wishing to be more like they are
but deep inside you and I
is grace and artistry
pure and sublime

No comparison

In the mirror there is no comparison
despite what you might see
a wish to be taller, thinner, younger,
things people long to be
makes me wonder
how much longer
it will take you to see

there really is no comparison,
for each of us is unique
there can never be another you
or another me

at night you envy your next door neighbor
you wish you could look more like her
she looks just like a runway model
yet at night she wishes she had your nerve

you daydream about your younger cousin
wish you were as wild and free as her
but she envies that you're down to earth

in the mirror there's no comparison
no other face has the symmetry that your face has
each curve and abstract line
an element of a masterpiece divine

and no one else has just your smile
or the same laugh or the same insights
that you find sitting on the subway
every Tuesday

really truly no comparison
I wish that I could help you see
no one else is better suited
to be who God meant you to be

When it rains *

The tears
that we never cried
are finally freed
when we pass from this world
into that bright Kingdom
where sadness cannot abide

when it rains
it falls to wash the
earth of sadness, sin,
hate and hurts
to carry such things deep
into the sea which swallows them
then sings of them in crashing waves
where poets and madmen can hear

when it rains the
gentle patter on my roof
whispers softly
to remind me
not all sadness
is behind me
and If I hold back all the tears
till I leave this life

a flood of sadness
will plument from the sky
as my hurts and heartbreaks
fall back to the earth
as rain drops
when it rains

(or maybe it really is angels crying and today they cry for me and Punkin)

To go on dreaming?

Tired dreams lie swollen and bruised on the ground
weary at knowing their goal was not found
Whispered yearnings come home to roost
As I sit at night and brood
And glittering shards that I know are
the peices of youthful ambitions
are still somehow as shiny as they were when
new, but they are still broken nonetheless
Regressing is depressing
but what to do?

How do you heal a tired dream's bruise?