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In the things that are both sad and beautiful

Like a sunset that starts a joy
Or a dawn that brings a certain end

There surges a stillness that can only be understood by clarity.

When even silence creates its own sound,

Where new perspective curls
In the sudden energy
Of a wave that isn't formed

Just unconsciously A decision is made.
Isnt this always hopes way?

Of water and air, a force of transperancy
That seems to elude us all.

But what is it like to actually do
Come back from a fall
And accept the distance that has to be recrawled ?

I haven't had a true feeling for a while
Truth hidden between the conflicts 

Of dreams mentioned and goals unsaid.

And I haven't said enough yet
To gain listeners to my story

Only collective whispers of doubt
And splatters of encouragement
All but leaves a dent in my reflection

They've all becomed enthralled by the cover
And victim to the rhythm of the chorus

So is a book a book without chapters?
Or do we veiw it as a continuous life?

Is a song still music,
 without a message to be felt ?

What is time without the junction
Of Decades and years ?

And what kind of man doesn't
Speculate his days.

Or study the ways
Of the dumb the rich and the slaves?

Sometimes I hear myself think too loud
Without giving my soul a chance to speak,

And without the music Of
The intelligent streets

I fear I'll become lost
Within the pulse of the beast.