Dream Life

                                       Her eyes are blue Yours are brown Hers represents the ocean Yours represents the ground You've always hated your eyes And wished that they were blue But your eyes have a tint of gold So rare it must not be true So yes her eyes are blue And yes your eyes are brown But your eyes hold the riches That are buried in the ground Her eyes carry storms And rage like the sea Your eyes carry earthquakes That bring mountains to their knees Maybe her eyes are blue But your eyes reign queen Because they hold the purest riches The world has ever seen

                                     The waves have a story to tell me, Ad I lie on the lonely beach; Chanting aloft in the pine-tops, The wind has a lesson to teach; But the stars sing an anthem of glory I cannot put into speech. The waves tell of ocean spaces, Of hearts that are wild and brave,  Of populous city places, Of desolate shores they lave, Of men who sally in quest of gold To sink in an ocean grave. The wind is a mighty roamer; He bids me keep me free, Clean from the taint of the gold-lust, Hardy and pure as he; Cling with my love to nature, As a child to the mother-knee. But the stars throng out in their glory, And they sing of the God in man; They sing of the Mighty Master, Of the loom his fingers span, Where a star or a soul is part of the whole, And weft in the wondrous plan. Here by the camp-fire's flicker, Deep in my blanket curled, I long for the peace of the pine-gloom...

                                         She told me that the ocean, Had been calling out her name, When the tide went out each evening, She felt like she should do the same, The waves tugged at her ankles, As they pooled around her feet, Whispering of wonders, That she still was yet to meet, But every time I asked her, If she knew the reason why, She simply said this arid world, Had turned her deep heart dry, There was just one way she knew of, To finally feel like she was free, And it was 14000 feet, Beneath the cold and stormy sea, Then early in November, She slipped like water from our hands, Left nothing of her salty breath, Or footprints in the sand, And I hope she found the ocean, Made up for things this world had lacked, For she left a note to say goodbye, And then never came back.

                                    It is said that before entering the sea a river trembles with fear. She looks back at the path she has traveled, from the peaks of the mountains, th elong winding road crossing forests and villages. And in front of her, she sees an ocean so vast, that to enter  there seems nothing more than to disappear forever. But there is no other way. The river can not go back. Nobody can go back. To go back is impossible in existence. The river needs to take the risk of entering the ocean because only then will fear disappear, because that's where the river will know it's not about disappearing into ocean, but of becoming the ocean.

                                          I don't know much about  how to label the things i feel. all i know is that when i look at the sky, i see freedom. when i look at the dirt, i see breakthrough. when i look at the ocean, i see serenity. and when i look at you, i see everything.

                                          The moon has always been the ocean's most jealous lover. But every time he has tried to fully control her tides, She has turned into a terrible tempest and broken through his chains with such fury, only allowing him the illusion of control on her smallest, weakest tides Woman , you are the ocean. And no one, not even the moon itself is allowed to control your glorious, beautiful tides.