Space

my words don't mean anything,

infact they mean nothing,

slowly they would have just faded,

only if you wouldn't have added.

All that has been said,

Has been done and dead,

Season after season arives,

Only stories unreal survive.

Figure the passion of the of the sayer,

the master story teller,

telling of all thats been done,

Of ages and of a sum.

I often why wonder,

If I were and the hour,

by time we calculate,

though I had much as you spake.

Did I live my days till some,

Dearthly wild adventure sun?

Or did I pass my self without,

A second of to think and shout.

Or is the the life we lead,

Not worthy of stops and beats,

When all we ever need,

Is two meals a day to eat.

Hey watch for the silence,

It can over whelm your days till end,

send you to hell or may be to heaven,

Wherever you wish to attend.

Why will I run around,

When all come back in a merry go round,

Sadness fill the sand,

Which sucks it to never come to hand.

Only, you will matter in the end,

Till leaves dry and bridges bend,

Till rivers change and oceans wave,

Your smile will last the age.

By the stairs

Four walls and a slanting roof,

A windblower for me and you.

Two lights, one long the other round,

One door and a mirror to see you true.

A wardrobe too small for two,

Six stars stuck by you,

One table by the cot so blue,

Another laid on the floor anew.

Two chairs of one all use,

A drawer some books old and new,

papers stuffed in like Phew!

Medicines lying of some use.

Two guitars, Black and Hue,

Wall hangings and posters two,

Inviting one on the gate,

Telling all please, Don't be late.

Of all its always new,

though my the clothes that lie are few,

One on the chair and seat and there,

There's always room for those who care.