For a fall may come and the tide may roll
Should I ever look back, I'll miss you so.
Can a child try to dream to reach his goals?
Should I run, run far back to land I know?

For a fall has come and the tide has turned
The fire within blazes too hot to hold.
How long will I stay before I get burned?
How long before my soul is sold?

For a fall may come and the tide may swell.
Should I ever look back, I'll wish you well.
A child can dream, he has a story to tell.
Running will surely end in hell.

Sailing upside down
Across a land with no borders
Speaking inside out
And setting fire to water
Nothing makes sense
Heaven knows it won’t have to
For as long as we’re together
The impossible is what we do

Dreaming awake
Of a land with no master
Walking through fire
Amidst the world’s disaster
Everything’s in pieces
And we can’t stay here alone
But as long as we’re together
Forever we will carry on

A Letter: On A Morning, One Week After You Left
The garden's fence was dressed in morning glory.
One liverwort's crescent held its last gemma.
A cruciform blossom evoked the trilemma -
How can that Soul be sent to Upper Story?
The dampened soil was fresh with petrichor
(Which I discovered when the rain had stopped
Its long unceasing murmur; up I propped
The window in that room of vellichor
You always sit to read in when you come).
Beyond the fence, dew-dropped viridity
Was dancing on the spring-leaves of the Plum

Forever is what we promise
Forever is how we'll stay
No matter what tries to harm us
Nothing will keep us away
Forever is what keeps us young
But our time together is never long
As forever slips through our hands
Like infinite grains of sand
Soon we must learn to say goodbye
As the sun falls from the proverbial sky
And the stars loose their grip on space
We each will find our rightful place

As forever ends, right on time

Dry Salt Water
Dry salt water spray
On bulwarks of our humble ship.
The treasures that called me away
From my comfort, on the deck it sits.

Beaten, bruised, battered,
I am exhausted, I am empowered.
The captain calls, “Hoist the mainstay!
You worked hard! We’re sailing home today!”

With the tea rose rising sun,
Our proud flags, the headwinds, they take.
Along our ship the dolphins run,
As they find much play in our foaming wake.

What you hear is the song I bring
A lonely life filled with empty things
Peace has no place in a mind that wanders
Love cannot last when it has been squandered
Through cries will I ever make myself found
Or do I open my mouth to be choked by my sounds?

What you read is the fear I write
On paper, it's trapped to save me from night
In daylight, I am surrounded by flames
No one to help, only myself to blame
In words will my soul at last find its peace?
For it shudders and moans, it wails and it weeps

While I have the rest of the Since The Day You Left series planned out and for the most part written down, I've become a little more excited by writing other stuff. Aloysius, Wynne, Caislin, and Finn are taking a hiatus.
So... Ettore, Aderyn, and Isyhah are coming instead!
I have three stories with prologues ready for AP now.

CHAPTER SEVEN: Two Lines

Nervously, I rung up the single item I had chosen from the shelves at Walmart and hurriedly made my payment at the self-checks. The plastic bag rustled gratingly as I made a quick exit to my car.

The last few days had been torture. If only I knew for sure. If only I was brave enough to know for sure.

I didn’t talk to anyone. No one had to know about this, absolutely no one.

It took an eternity to get to Houston Community College that day. But there was no way I was going to risk doing what I needed to do at work.

Borne on wings of victory
Sealed for courts above
Soaring high above the heavens
Freed from sin and care
Let me sing salvation's story
Shout His praise forevermore
Lift your voice and with me praise Him
Borne on vict’rys wing.

Once I was a lonely stranger
Never finding rest
But He drew me to a fountain
Where love divine was giv'n.
Bowing at my Savior's cross
Where Jesus bore my shame
My weary life--renewed, restored
And borne on vict'rys wing.

There’s two ways to look at the cup in your hand
Two ways to look at a day
Two ways to live
Two ways to walk
And two ways to see your life.

The cup could be, of course, half-empty
You could focus on the pain
And gripe and moan in emptiness
Ignore the gift just giv’n.
You are pitied most, dear friend—
Your gaze, misplaced, is greed.

OR—