Einleitung

The storm that raged In our cherished childhood Felt like a gentle caress carrying the little flakes the blessing of winter with which we made our snowballs and scooped out our angels and built our snowman Then we sled down the hill That we had climbed countless times before and never after again At the bottom we lay down and looked up at the white sky Catching the icy drops Cold but sweet like hot chocolate but like chocolate we soon get tired of the taste Let’s go you said where I asked Home but I like it here Then stay don’t leave Goodbye and you left in the middle of the storm that was just beginning to end Your tr

What’s a wish? Is it a star That shines out of hope’s reach, Something to stare at and admire From afar? Is it a tear That drops into an ocean of seas, Something that’s shed and lost Through the years? Is it a fire That burns within the hearth, Something that keeps kindling Heart’s desire? Maybe it’s a swan Singing it’s last song, For the lonely spirit Weary for too long Maybe it’s a seed That waits in the ground For life-giving Spring To come around. Or maybe it’s a plane Folded by tender hands Thrown by a child Who hopes it never lands. I think it’s all of those things When

Careless Winter Winter wasn’t so cold this year, When the birds flew off And we left our homes To meet beneath The barren maples. A few leaves still clung on, Fading into vibrant colors Before drifting down to Where you waited To catch them. I said that, It’s better to let them Come down on their own And enjoy the scenery Laid out before us. You told me, That we don’t have time To watch and wait For everything to fall And to fall with them. . I wanted to stay anyway, So I asked For a whispered blessing That you held back With your paling smile. The sun dropped down, And you answered My forlorn plea By singing a so

 I wonder if it’ll ever stop. This flood that keeps pouring down Without a care for those below Maybe it’s trying to wash away All the burdens of this world And the salty tears that come with them. I kind of like it sometimes. There’s a calming rhythm In the dripping symphony. But the sun needs to come back Before everyone drowns In this misty lethargy. It still won’t listen to me Even when I stand outside And scream until my heart cries. If I wait here long enough I might learn to bear it Or else die in this coldness.

The sun drops beneath the valley Where the sleeping lilies lie. A lazy snaking river flows Past the banks of pearly pebbles. Wild winds rustle through fresh orchards Knocking down newly ripe apples. Reaching down to feel the dewy grass, You would think that this is paradise.

Running down the platform, Pushing aside the crowds, I kept you in my sight For five seconds longer. In that short time I thought Maybe I should have learned To say goodbye instead.

Rain falls in the barren meadow, Wetting the fields of dirt and dust; And all that can be heard and said, Are drowned by the churning waters Buried beneath the sea of mud. The North Wind races through the sky, Blowing away the wistful clouds And beckoning in the dry frost, That stops sorrow and mirth alike, Blanketed  under the pure snow Rays of light pierce the frosted sky, Drying up the innocent yearning And warming up the frozen hopes, That melt and become bitter tears, Swallowed up by the thirsty land. It was here that I found a flower, That had bloomed too soon or too late To receive the blessings of Spring. The petals have long

The two of them were sitting a hand's length apart, under the broad maple that let slivers of sunlight slip in between the brittle leaves. The grass beneath them was still moist from the morning's dew, providing a soft cushion that seeped away weariness. A playful wind was in the air, occasionally passing by to rustle the leaves in the tree, some of which fell and drifted slowly to the ground in a light shower of red and orange. One of them leaned back against the trunk of the maple, letting it support her fully. She spoke, her words faltering in the air. "It's not fair, you know. I was finally beginning to understand you." The boy sittin

The Beginning It's always difficult to start from the beginning, to create something out of nothing. It would be nice if you could just pick off where someone else left off, just go along with something that's already been established. It's kind of frightening to think that there's something out that no one knows about yet, and you have to be the one to introduce it into the world. When you take the first step onto a path in a forest, the first step towards the edge of the water, and write the first word on a piece of paper, there's a sense of hesitation. The beginning's the easiest place to turn back from, to stop what you're doing and just