It is quite difficult,
But oh what a glorious challenge,
To type a paper
With a cat on your lap.

Icarus I

He was the sun,
you see,
bright and beautiful.
He was warm,
though I never knew
(or will know)
the feel of his touch.

He burned,
an almost pure fire,
shining that the dark around him
fled.
He shone,
though dark of hair
and slim of frame,
he was so bright
I had to reach out to him.

Yet I am water and air,
slipping through cracks
and dipping past the blows.
I might soar up
to touch the sun,
but I will always melt with failure
and tumble away
from what was too good
to ever be mine.

Which attracts more,
the sadness or the weirdness?
And which will make them stay?

Which ties souls together
With thicker and tighter cords,
the laughter or the tears?

Already starting to fail,
feeling the pressure of fulfilling goals.
I need to fill the holes
in a ship already leaking.

The year is still young,
still new and bright.
I can write my way
to success I know.

It is easy
to slip into his orbit,
a sun that shines,
for I can already feel him
circling me.

It might become
what Sirius could be
if its halves were equal,
that bright star.

Perhaps I'm slipping in too deep,
Too close,
when I can hear warnings to stay out.
But few come from my own mind,
So I tread closer
to a heart beating next to mine.

Perhaps this time,
curiosity will kill me.

Music is Poetry is Music

Music is poetry,
And the opposite is true.
It needs time
To break time,
To give you a breath of immortality.

Minutes still tick by
As you are lost in words and scores.
For you though,
Time does not pass
While in that little piece of writing,
Or beautiful moment of score,
A year could pass
While you feel it a day stretched on forever.