The thunder and lighting I hear
The rain and the clouds that I fear
The smell and taste of blood in my mouth
The song of a bird, who is long due south.
The squeal of a baby, the whine of a Dog
The crisp scent of winter, the touch of the fog
The crushing winds, and the sighs of the tide
The grave yard of bodies who have long died.
The long taste of sea salt, the cry of the gull,
The grunt of men, who try and pull in a hull.
The gasps for air, and dizziness and fright
The blackout that conquers all, the absents of light.
The hard feeling of rocks, the sharp feeling of knifes
The bodies of the war victims, who have lost their lives.
The deep sound of knocking, the heat of the night
The spiders who lurk around you, keeping out of sight.
The whispers and the songs, the sound of water
The sight of a mother, losing her daughter.
The heartaches, the headaches, the constant pain,
The wining, the losing, the lost the gain.
The words goodbye
The harsh lie
The falling, the rising, and all in between
The old tree has fallen, the place we lean.
The laughs and cries,
The left alone, the tries.
The happy, the sad
The good the bad.
The sun the rain
The pleasure and pain
The alive and dead
The words that are said.
The cold, the hot
The small, the lot.
The just, the result
The right, the wrong, and the fault.
The winter and the spring
The bird as it sings.
The summer and fall
The party and ball.
The graduation, the end,
The relationships, the bends.
The greater, and weaker,
The finder and seeker.
The start
The end