“I’m afraid of death"

I’m afraid of death
because it inflates
the definition
of what a person
is, or love, until
they become the same,
love, the beloved,
immaterial.

I’m afraid of death
because it invents
a different kind of
time, a stopped clock
that can’t be reset,
only repurchased,
an antiquity.

I’m afraid of death,
the magician who
makes vanish and who
makes odd things appear
in odd places—your
name engraves itself
on a stranger’s chest
in letters of char.

Being Alive

Don't sweat the small stuff, so they
say, for if you do, it doesn't pay!
Things happen all the time, so to
keep on worrying, is really a crime!
Enjoy your life, do whatever, you can
afford to do. Do it, while you have
the chance, for all too soon it's taken
away from you! Don't say, I'll get to it
tomorrow, today is what really should
count. If you don't take the opportunity,
while you can, it's then you'll see your
troubles mount! We have to enjoy every
minute, of every day, in order to survive.
Then, that's when you can say, how
great it is, just being alive! !

Bricks

Like bricks in the wall

They hold us together

That strong bottle of glue

Connects me to you

We are all together 

In one special way

Some are closer then others

But we were born this way

After a while

The bricks start to rust

They move in to close

And eventually turn to dust

Its the other bricks that break them

They put to much pressure

Then building then falls

And built back up next to others

Each one is connected

No matter how far

Like a 300th cousin

They are never to far

Bricks stay together

Until the glue wears out

One falls out 

And they move on to another

Eventually they all fall

And theres nothing left

But a pile of dust

That was once a group of friends

MY KIND OF PERFECT

I was thinkin' about ya
I drew a little picture
But some things you can't put on paper
Like ya like shooting stars
Or write songs on guitar
Got more things to do than stare at a mirror

And I know I know,
She's gotta be out there, out there
I know, I know, she's gotta be

Maybe I'm wrong maybe I'm right
Maybe I'll just let you walk by
What can I say, maybe I've known you all my life
Is she the one, is it today
Will I turn the corner, see my future
In a beautiful face
Maybe

She's anything but typical
A sweet suprise
No matter what she's looking at the brightside
It's gonna be worth it
Cos that's what love it's
I'll keep searching for my kind of perfect!

And I know, I know, she's gotta be out there, out there
I know I know, she's gotta be.
Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm right, maybe I just let you walk by
What can I say, maybe I've known you all my life
Is she the one, is it today
Will I turn the corner, see my future, in a beautiful face
Maybe

They say, give it time, give it time and it will fall in line
But I keep wondering how and when and why I haven't met you...

But maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm right

Ooohhhhh
Is she the one is it today
Will I turn the corner
See my future, in a beautiful face

Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm right
Maybe I just let you walk by
What can I say
Maybe I've known you all my life
Is she the one, is it today
Will I turn the corner, see my future
In a beautiful face
Maybe ohh maybe yeah
Nanana na nanana
Ooohh
I'll keep searching for my kind of perfect. 
david archuleta

NIGHT ON THE MOUN­TAIN

The fog has risen from the sea and crowned
The dark, untrod­den sum­mits of the coast,
Where roams a voice, in canyons utter­most,
From mid­night waters vibrant and pro­found.
High on each gran­ite altar dies the sound,
Deep as the tram­pling of an armored host,
Lone as the lamen­ta­tion of a ghost,
Sad as the dia­pa­son of the drowned.

The moun­tain seems no more a soul­less thing,
But rather as a shape of ancient fear,
In dark­ness and the winds of Chaos born
Amid the lord­less heav­ens’ thun­der­ing–
A Pres­ence crouched, enor­mous and aus­tere,
Before whose feet the mighty waters mourn.

The flip side to Bai’s poem, Sterling’s Night on the Moun­tain cap­tures the malev­o­lence that moun­tains some­times seem to pos­sess. It’s dif­fi­cult to find a heart “free of care” dur­ing a fero­cious moun­tain storm.

If this list shows us any­thing, it’s that moun­tains encom­pass a rainbow-spectrum of mean­ing. They are beau­ti­ful and ugly, peace­ful and malev­o­lent, holy and unholy — some­times all at once. The shape shift­ing nature of moun­tains will con­tinue to inspire and pro­voke us with won­der, and will con­tinue to scare us, as well.