Everything Yellow

Everything's yellow that used to be green,
Even the tree leaves, and even my dreams.
Even my memory of leaving, it seems.
And everything yellow's as gold as it gleams.
Even the forests and even the streams.
Even the sun drip is raining down beams
of yellow, the yellow that used to be green,
(But yellow's just gold without sparkle to me.)

There's A House on a Hill

There's a house on the hill in the distance-

I see it from here where I stand.

The valley between us untampered,

unpaved, all this tree covered land.

But there must be ways to that clearing,

where smoke billows up to the sky

from chimney in use on the inside

so how does one get there? How high

is it to the top of that mountain?

I simply can't tell over here.

It just looks so small, white and quiet

from all of the noise I can't hear.

And I don't have words to describe it, 

what I'm feeling here in this place

but life has a way to untame you,

and love has a way to erase

what I used to think were descriptors,

but now they just all sound the same.

But if there were words for this new hope,

then I would have written your name.

There's a house over there where I'm looking-

Oh please can we go there someday? 

The way in, our own whispered secret,

and once we are in, there we'll stay.

Warming Right Up

The leaves and the lichen fell down all around,
were falling right into the road.
Above, turning golden, the blinking bright sun
 was dying, but desperately so.
The light never left even as we drove on,
where time moved us closer to night.
And so we made home as the edges grew dark,
and set a new fire alight.
Now black was descended outside of the house,
and cold with it's chill fingers touched
the invisible air. But we, in these walls
were glowing, and warming right up.

Calling You Home

Where all the wild horses once roamed,
And Ocean's salt water here foamed,
(Though that was a long time ago)
I wouldn't mind calling this home.
Though it was a long time ago,
The wild horses no longer roam.
The ocean left salt for it's foam.
(Yes that was a long time ago;)
I wouldn't mind calling here home.
The salt to preserve what we own,
Wild horses, again may they roam,
The past was a long time ago.
I wouldn't mind calling you Home.

Hundred Year Old House

The burned out remains where a family once lived; I don't know their secrets or crimes.
I stand here and look down the bricks that remain and wonder what happened. How time

can change a whole landscape; this place once so grim; before that, this place was a dream,
and now just the brick hole with grass all around, but no one remembers, it seems

that everything changes back to what it was; our shadows, quite long, look the same
as everyone else who has ever lived here; this same flesh, with new sounding names.

The family, who were they, and where have they gone, and what were their secrets or crimes?
I stand here and look down the bricks that remain, and know they're exactly like mine.