Those tiny buds blossom;
Like miracles,
Or prayers from the dead.
Uncurling like a baby's fist
White then pink then red.
I forgot how I missed
Those precious beads of life
A transient ode to the suns' first kiss
An end to unending winter,
death, and strife.
The start of new life.

If I reach up to the sky, you think I'll grab it?
Can I have a piece or maybe even two?
If I succeed when I try, then can I have it?
If I get the sky, I'm giving it to you

When I try to cross the ocean, will I make it?
Or will my arms tire out and let me drown?
If I see a lifeboat there, will I dare take it?
Or would I simply let the whirlpool **** me down?

If I finally reach the sun, will I survive there?
Or incinerate and burn away to ash?
If I turned into fireworks nobody would care
I'd explode and then my guts would brightly flash

And if I prayed to God just once for his assistance
I'd hear the empty silence I'm used to
And yes, I've always questioned his existence
But as I've grown, I've seen what I know true

I've taken all the pieces hiding in this planet
And shaken them all up inside my head
I've taken all the good things here for granted
And written words that should be never read

Saddest
of all
springtime
shows
is the
display of
sculpted stone
that never
blooms
and only
grows
after the
seeds of war
are sown

That's the thing about Silence,
It's not quietly peaceful.
It's cold,
And it's haunting,
And truly deceitful.

The thing about Silence,
Is that it's painful,
And overbearing.
It gives you room to think,
About the things that aren't so joyful.

The thing about Silence,
Is that it isn't really silent.
Your thoughts scream out loudly,
Demanding that you hear them,
Uncontrollably Defiant.

The thing about Silence,
Is that it's quietly violent.
Hurting you,
Breaking you,
Always destroying your will to be vibrant.

The thing about Silence,
Is that it isn't great at all.
It causes more destruction.
It sneaks inside and plants the hate and doubt,
It breaks through your shielding walls.

That's the thing about Silence.
It slowly kills me.
With the self-deprecation,
And the memories.
*That's the thing about Silence, you see.