The brushes of the winter wind Whisk across the cottage windows. Only in the darkness do they paint For they are shy And work best in the night. When the world is fast asleep They come They come across the freezing moor Peering in the windows of all the houses. Riding the tendrils of clouds Carried along by the gusts of chilly wind. They come to each window And dip their brushes in the frosty air. Then they create They paint small spirals and designs all over the glass. They dance through the winter air and dab at their canvas. When each window is a masterpiece They retreat back to the sky. In the morning, The children walk up and gasp in surprise at the painters work. They use their fingers to add their own touches to the frosty art. Soon the sun Melts away their work Clearing the canvas So the winter painters can cover them once more.
The year I turn eighteen, our atmosphere will release the last particle of helium Into space.
I was born in the 2nd Year of the 2nd Millenium, On the 20th
and the 2nd atomic element will leave our planet in 2020, 2 years from now.
If the universe is made up of math, all algebra glimmering with geometry, tinted in trig and cradled in calculus, Then tell me,
Is 18 an equation where if 1 is singularity and 8 is upright infinity, then 18= adulthood?
But of course no mathematician will answer me till I solve for that constant, find the double of fear, the square root of censure round to significance -
To 18 to having rights a Vote a Voice a Person.
A person That forgets anyone with less than 2 digits painted under their eyes,
Background: I wrote this song awhile ago, for the Martin Luther King Day of 2018. As I was looking through files on my computer, I found it again and listened. I thought about how we need more people like MLK in our world today, and how we need to realize this more often instead of on just one day of the year. This is why I'm sharing this song now.
The lyrics are below, and there's also a recording above (the recording at the bottom is the same; please disregard it). I'm the singer, and my former English teacher played the guitar. The song is titled "The Dream Lives On".
One night I woke up Wishing I’d stayed asleep, Walking into a world Different in my dream.
Such terrible suffering around me, When will humans solve the inequality?
A woman hurries down the street, her pale hands pulling a coat tighter against the cold. Her long auburn hair tumbles down her back in loose waves. The brisk air bites at her nose and cheeks, turning them a rosy pink. The red scarf she wears around her neck pops against her paling skin and dark coat. Her tan, freckled skin and blond hair from Summer is gone, along with the glowing, golden brown hair from Spring. The tips of her hair are already fading into a muddy brown color, for winter is coming. Her breath puffs out through crimson lips, wafting like a cloud of smoke in the cold air. Her shoes click-clack loudly on the cracked pavement, drawing the attention of others. She walks with purpose, shoulders squared and head high. She pops in a sea of people, all in different stages of transformation. Red, orange, yellow and brown hues surround her on all sides. A rush of warm bodies, pumping hearts, and hurried strides.
Salt and pepper purled carpets smelled of sultry dandelion fluff, the sun illuminating the cinnamon lincoln-log blocks resting on the dove-threaded swells. (Is there peace in a metric rectangle, perched on the clashing seas?)
The hickory seeds would take to their feathers as we kicked through their sunny fluff, I'd see the full-seeded flower head as a globe where the equidistant inhabitants raised their wizened brows in triumph. (How long ago did you realize the world could never be that sage?)
Those dandelions are stitched into the foreground of my memory, though even then I knew why the fences wore obsidian arrows: the stones in this meadow were graves. (Did you know any of the dead, or are you searching again for kinder strangers?)
We searched for the most distant date, one eights, one sevens, last two digits trailing...
(A/N: my younger brother is doing the spoken word part.)
"Now here's a little question for you all to try on for size... who put you in charge, huh?" The world is turning And you can't stop it Your act doesn't fool us anymore So why don't you drop it?
And if the bridge breaks Then you will fall So down falls the piggy Money and all
"So listen, all of you! Yes, you! Things are gonna change around here! Instead of war, you're gonna get ART! And instead of money, you're gonna get REVOLUTION! Yes, you heart it right!"
The world is burning And we can stop it Your act doesn't fool us anymore So who don't you drop it?
If I could speak my mind Like you could speak your heart If I could say I tried Then maybe we wouldn't be apart If I could stay away From the concept I called "golden pain" Then maybe to this day We wouldn't call it a game Is the cost a tear? Or is it a smile? My words can reach her ears But they won't reach her mind for a little while If she could've kept her head She just might have been someone instead But she said what shouldn't have been said And now she's... If we would speak our minds Like she could speak her heart If we really had tried Then maybe she wouldn't have to depart She could've stayed away From the hearts that would give her pain Then maybe to this day I could call her name
I'm a beginner guitarist having a try at songwriting... I'm not sure how it sounds, hopefully it's decent...
Lyrics: Well you're so great and I can't get over the modest things you've said You're so very amazed with yourself, you're a star in your own head Who did you think would be lining up to be your backup crew? Open your eyes, to your surprise there's no one there but you When will it be enough? What would it all be for? You had everything But you wanted more Here you come, the one and only Not at the top but you're still lonely Who will you turn to for help Now that you've lost all to yourself? When will it be enough? What would it all be for? You had everything But you wanted more
2007 CE the year US annual carbon dioxide emissions peaked at 7.37 billion tons -544 million tons of potential exponential renewables and recession derived decrease in industry over the next 7 years
As of 2016, one american = 4,600 pounds of carbon annually. Population of the land of the Free (ly cooking themselves in their breath): 323,130,000.
4,600 x 323.13 million pounds of satellite-computerized frigidly air-conditioned shiny black SUVs fueled by the blood of the earth
This is another song that I wrote, all me on the (slightly cringe-worthy) vocals this time... hope everyone likes it!
LYRICS: Paper eyes Teary eyed skies Blank and white Hardly makes you care to try Paper hands Pale and rough as sand Bleak and dry Hardly makes you want to understand Why
Paper guns with paper fun Paper blood from her paper sons Paper hearts with paper smarts Paper easily tears apart
Paper guards guarding Paper boarders They weren't always paper But now they've grown older Paper people standing in a row Hoping they stay safe And that the wind never blows Them away
Paper eyes Teary eyed skies Blank and white Hardly makes you care to try Paper hands Pale and rough as sand Bleak and dry Hardly makes you want to understand Why
Dear America, What would have happened if we never stole this land? Never polluted it with our cold superiority, our ships swarming with sickly death, our flashing bullets thirsting for blood.
If the people native to this land, who tended it as a arboreous, continental garden, were allowed to remain, in entirety?
Rather than as the scattered splinters of the last tree standing in a sacred forest, burned to the ground by the unquenchable flames of greed. Dear Europe, how do you feel that your reckless descendants have polluted The New World worse than the old?
That they have crushed it beneath hundreds, thousands, 6.5 million pairs of heeled boots and polished dress shoes, stilettos and Nikes,
Toppling the refuge of ancient forests, Soiling the clear waters with the mud caking their soles,
