Is what I feel really real, Is what I see really meant to be, or just a mirage that stands before me?
Betraying an image to cover up of what may be, Yes, No, even Maybe,
This I may never know, lead astray, today, tomorrow, for many moon's but how will I know what has never been apprised?
Days turn cold nights turn colder, frostbite from words that have been froze,
...
In Spirit With The King
I mourn over the last breath you release in the air, as I sought to bring back what was know longer there, I picture my hands closing you're eyes, you're soul leaves but you're spirit is left behind! Gone to soon, I intermittently imagine myself moon walking on the moon with you!