Mama Sky

In the days, that are passing,
With the voices that are true,
I will pray for you your blessing.
For the hope of things anew.

There is light, everlasting,
For as long as I’ve known you.
Cause your my white in the evening,
The bright stars and vivid moon.

Where there’s you, I am resting,
From the cold evil world.
Your arms warm me from the night.
And guide me to what’s right.

That’s why I love you, my Mama Sky.

Lovely

You are the silence in my song,
The virtue when I speak,
The calm before the storm.

I am but the shadow of your voice.
Thinking of what I can,
To make you more lovely,
Than what I am.

It doesn’t matter if I fall,
If that is all I’ll spend,
For you to be lovelier,
than when we met.

You are rhyme when I am wrong,
The love when I am weak,
The way to not conform.
The reason that I speak.

This actually a song.

AOTC and the Prince

He walks a long a road not wide,
That expands a foot or thrice.
But for little Tim, half of half a foot in size,
He needs quite the big stride.
But for the man in front who seems to not know where to go.
He only needs a step to be ahead.
But the problem is, where will he go?

The red sky rises and the leaves bend down,
it was alike to a mother’s touch how the rays rained down.
Where am I to go, says I, a prince.
One full of responsibilities and ties to convince.
Knowing and unknowing of the possible consequence ahead of me.
Does hesitation take over me, leaving me aimless of where I am to go? 
Am I lost or am I free of where I choose to go?

What lies in front of them is but a fork.
One way is known to go where a King once went
And the other is to adventure anew, maybe even to a land unmet.
While here and now is what is before a choice, before he makes a mark.

Do you go on the road where you know its certainties?
Or take the road where one is all uncertainties?

In between is the grass hedged by the road,
Which seems completely exclusive of the road.
But with a little clink, clunk.
With his face suddenly touching the floor.
A circular dish falls,
And runs into the man.

It was compass, with no directions.
Not even sure if it was pointing North.
It was broken, so to speak.
It was not for the lost or the guided.

But seeing the unlabeled dial, the prince was enlightened.
It did matter the uncertainty or the certainty,
It did matter whether he was lost, free, or guided.
But what especially mattered was to trek the road he started.

Tim Can walks along the grass and the road.
There was no real path to begin with.
The road is all in your head.
With a path but a definition of your place.