Orbit.

The sun sets, and gives way for the moon,
Laboriously trudging through a thick web of violet
dashed with the colour of the clouds.
The sun sets, and some feel it's too soon,
as the colours in the sky begin to fade,
lost to tonight's murky shrouds -
that once held all the dreams I'd made.

And as the satellite parodies the sun's noon,
The sun prepares a new ascent
to brighten now dark pallettes.
And so the moon sets, and none feel it too soon,
as the darkness in the sky begins to fade,
lost to today's promising bets -
that once again hold all the dreams I've made.
And not a single one, to lose.

Breeze.

It's a cold street,
and the pavement is dressed in grey.
A single moment gets caught by the wind,
and through opens hands, slowly slips away.
My eyes don't blink,
and I don't miss a step,
my life just changed again,
and I didn't even stop to think.

It's a cold street,
and it'll get colder throughout that day,
A single moment gets caught by the wind,
And towards my open hands, it makes it's way.
My eyes don't blink,
but I miss my step,
my life just changed again,
but this time my heart won't sink.

Fine.

On the outside looking in, everything seems so fine,
but my life is a poem being written,
and I get stuck on every line.
I'm not interested in excuses,
I'm interested in our time,
it feels like it's falling short -
I feel like I've lost what once was mine.

Inspiration.

There's something about you,

of that much I'm sure.

But I'm not sure what it is you do,

or if it's the way you talk,

or the way you move.

I'm not sure, but that's part of the magic -

when a magician reveals their tricks,

well then the act becomes tragic.

So I'm not sure how you inspire me,

but I don't care,

as long as you promise you won't move too far from there.

Improv.

A lonely island, lost at sea,

and time and space and history,

but time moves on,

and so should I -

onto a land, with a bluer sky.

Hour Glass.

You saw your cards,

and you still played your hand.

Now you're waiting for the chips

to fall like hour-glass sand.

Shellshocked,

you froze.

There was nothing you could do.

So you sat and watched,

and carried the game through.

Every second was an hour,

and each hour, a day,

as down your face the beads of sweat

began to pave their way.

The final chance to leave,

sinks in like the claws of fear,

You're numb to all but the call

that the dealer now shouts clear.

They all saw your cards,

those that played their hands,

and you sat and watched as your chips

fell, like the hour-glass sands.

The Beach.

When Winter comes, the beach is mine,

cold, grey, but quiet and divine.

Then Spring signals the end of Winter,

calming winds that once blew bitter.

And with Summer comes the tide of noise,

of tourists, children and their toys.

But when Autumn shows it's tired eyes,

the noise fades, replaced by cold grey skies.