Cry of the Stars

Now everything around him seems a pearl of greatest price
But never does he see one inside of a single grain of rice
Now meaningless this life is all he thinks he wants or needs
But never does he stoop so low so as to plant a single seed
Now seeing all of nothing he believes his way is right
But never does he realize the darkness from the light
Now loving worthless jewels he allows his soul decay
But never does he even spare a thought to stop and pray
Then suddenly he's given sudden sight and sudden knowing
And suddenly the stopped-up stream of life is started flowing
And suddenly he sees that all he's loved are worthless goods
And suddenly he sees beyond the oceans and the woods
And only then does he receive what had been done for him
And with a shout, his life returns, his mind no longer dim
Now only one thing to him is the pearl of greatest price
And when he goes away from here, he'll go to paradise

Can i haz a llama?
Do you haz a llama?
Llama llama llama
obama..

Authors note: WILL YOU GIVE ME A LLAMA!!?? An alpaca will do just as well!! PWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZE!!!
Authors note note: i cant find anything else that ryhmes with llama, except obama...

If life was always boring
And people always sad
The world would be an awful place
It really would be bad

If seashells never varied
And pebbles stayed the same
The beach would cease to be much fun
And lose its well-known fame

If trees were never orange
And autumn never came
A striking bit of color, gone
We'd lose that stunning flame

If all the world was changeless
And everyone was sly
The world would be a foreign place
And I? Well, I would cry.

Raindrops sliding down a car window in a parking lot
In the light of the street lamps
Rain mists the air
Drips slowly down the cars
Raindrops sliding down the window
Sparkling and twinkling
Stars sliding down the window
Stars falling from the sky
Twinkling, twinkling
In the light of the street lamps
Raindrops,
Stars, sliding down a car window in a parking lot

An empty page is torturous,
It stares and taunts my weakness
Of how I cannot write them down
Those thoughts that I possess
The poem taunts me too,
It tells me I can't do it
That I can never be profound
And put some rhyming to it
But does rhythm really matter?
Are the rhymes what makes the poem?
Are beauteous words what make the tale
Or is it that I know them?
And so I sit and write them down
And into words I try to squeeze
My tumbling thoughts that never rhyme
I'm limited, and tied, oh please
Just let me truly express myself
And let my words be true
But words themselves are holding me
To something less than what I knew
But here are some things I will say
And some things that I know are true
Words are never, ever perfect
--Love is something that you do

from the ashes she was born

never loved, never known

years of hate filled her life

years of solitude marked her days

to the grave she will shall go

to the grave with a rose

all alone,

never lived, never knew,

even the head stone knew not her name

bare and empty is her heart

black and cold, never dear

to the ashes she returns

to the ashes she remains

--
Cold and lonely,
he watched the rain
Gray skies and grayer clouds,
the drops pounded against the window pane

As the wind blew with a shriek,
he sat there watching the day,
bitter, miserable, and bleak
Alone, he sat watching the rain