Principles written in storm and stone,
decorate the images we thought we'd be.
Ideas that would knight us "full grown,"
scholars and adventurers, quiet royalty.
For my part,
Cumulus concepts mirrored my tempest;
took flight, ran, shut down, lights blown out.
Storms raging, eyes leaking, mind hard pressed,thunderous frustrations, hurts, cuts, deep doubt.
And somewhere out there in the icy open air,
I found sanctuary from my youth, from you.
Happiness equations and getting whats fair,
dropped like a mask, maze, unwanted bruise.
I saw it go, the person I was trying to play,
watched it plummet, asteroid, to the ground.
My dream turned hard and gun metal gray,
finally at rest, at home with the peace it found.
I have only to peer upon your preservation of me,
my memory paved and presented like a work of art.
The person I was, decaying, but held fondly,
pressed against you, kissing you, heart to heart.
Wrapped in druidic ceremony, beyond criticism,
you see only gray masks, everything now unclear.
Back to nature, to its freedom, earthly wisdom,
fighting fiercely your eyes, heavy with dull fear.
And there is something beautiful, sacred... noble,
in finding rest amidst a world of growing conflict.
Your fragile, careful, compassion remains hopeful,
filling me with tender awe, love... words cant depict.
Principles darling, written long before you and I,
lay you down among the trees and I, mountains.
As a man, I watch, collect you up in my eyes...
you are life, love and fulfillment of all my plans.