A Poem Is A Cup Of Words

Later Our Dreams Begin Catching Fire Around The Edges, They Burn Like Paper, We Wake With Our Hands Full Of Ash.

I'm Like The Weather, Never Really Can Predict When This Rain Cloud's Gonna Burst; When It's The High Or It's The Low, When You Might Need A Light Jacket. Sometimes I'm The Slush That Sticks To The Bottom Of Your Work Pants, But I Can Easily Be The Melting Snowflakes Clinging To Your Long Lashes. I Know That Some People Like: Sunny And Seventy-five, Sunny And Seventy-five, Sunny And Seventy-five, But You Take Me As I Am And Never Forget To Pack An Umbrella.

Since There Is No Place Large Enough To Contain So Much Happiness, You Shrug, You Raise Your Hands, And It Flows Out Of You Into Everything You Touch. You Are Not Responsible. You Take No Credit, As The Night Sky Takes No Credit For The Moon, But Continues To Hold It, And Share It, And In That Way, Be Known.

It Was Terrible When A Single Conversation With Someone Determined Your Whole Future Relationship.

Being Alive Is A Common Road. It's What We Notice Makes Us Different.