RIP Edd Gould 1988-2012Strong and braveTill the very last breathYou were an inspiration to allNow we must mourn your deathNow you're goneWe can't believe itA young life taken so suddenWithout any warningYou inspired so manyWith your determination and kindnessNow all that's left is darkness and sadnessYour kind glowStill lives in our heartsEven though there torn apartGoodbye we will never forget youYour memory will still live on in our heartsWe will all miss you
The obsession Ch-4The room was not grubby, not in the least. He was starting to think maybe he had underestimated the quality of the hotel. He had hardly paid attention to the details before, was so wrapped up in his mission unlike his mindset at the first hotel. Then it had been all about Blair, mostly at least. He had not been focused.Recently wipe down tables littered the front of the room, all evenly set apart. Averagely comfortable chairs filled up most of the back half of the room. They were all a dull maroon with some speckled deep turquoise blotches. There was a short, carpeted stage just beyond all the tables. A smoothly crafted wooden podium stood on the front right end of the stage. Two long tables with the same semi-comfortable chairs were placed beside it. The set-up did not meet his expectations by any means, but he figured it would make finding his answers a heck of a lot easier.A group of middle-class American teens stood in a cluster at the far end of the room near the window.
The poetThe trees write poems of the beautiful greenleaves.The leaves tell the story of the early springbreeze.The sun tells the story of the flowers thatgrow.The flowers write a poem about the sun'smighty glow.The stream tells a tale of the rocks and thefish.While a lone standing well harbors a wish.The willow writes of shadows that dancein the day.Till the moon starts to rise and they all runaway.The birds and the bee's will write of theirflight.The wind writes the breeze that makes themso light.The frogs sing a song as the moon starts torise.The fireflies will dance as they light up theskies.The owl cries as the stars start toshine.We copy what we see as the earth starts toshow it.Maybe we hold the quill but destiny is the poet.
the artistIf I were a painter id paint despairMy colours would be grayBlack and white would be my heartFor I know no other wayId paint a heartache wounded and redOozing from black and whitePeople would come from miles aroundJust to witness this sight Id paint your lies as blue as the sea With its waves crashing the shoreThe blue would stretch to the ends of theEarthAnd then just a little bit moreId paint my trust with invisible paintLike all the promises you madeId paint them all as fast as I couldAnd then I'd watch them fade If I were an artist I would paint goodbyeTo all the things that remainBut I'm just a poet without a brushSo I'll write away my pain