Black and white, vacuum of cosmos vis-à-vis occupancy of skies.

Now she looks pale and small, but her eyes make me think of wide- open skies that I have never actually seen, only dreamed of.

How I miss wandering around with old souls, Aimlessly moving from one place to anotherHow I miss all our dreams and our goalsAnd how we've lost ourselves to find each otherSeems like a playful game of hide-n-seekBut that's how we'll forever play this lifeLoving and living the truth that we seekUntil embraced we find our way to striveGazing into strangers' eyes to find our soul mates,Knowing we're so much closer than we thought.Our heart keeps the light that forever radiatesThrough all the darkness, 'til love is taughtAnd yet again we look into the skies,We see the stars, the moon, that lightMissing our home beyond the nightsLiving in love until the end of the fight.

I can sense your love,why leave me in darkness?Beguile me for your amusement,stealing my soul without kisses. You are the sun and I, the moon. Your beauty is reflected in my eyes.When we are apart, I am extinguishedin the blackness of these skies.

The love that I believe in is something that goes beyond the physical aspects of this world. The love that I believe is one that extends its energy and power through the beautiful souls that I encounter along the way, a love that can be seen in the eyes of a little dog or in the confusion of a cute lost cat who wants to be worshiped like a Goddess. This kind of love goes through a divine crafting of a person's inner self, through personal experience and thousands of years of tears and strength, that can only be seen in the familiar eyes of old souls, the eyes that recognize each other even after long times of separation, the eyes that find themselves familiar with places they have probably been to before, but that nevertheless bring great memories with every visit. This kind of love sees hope in the eyes of new-born children that know way much more than they are capable of putting into words and that bring with their innocence a smile on each person's face who'd wish they could start again. The love that I see when I look at you is a love which has roots deep inside each of us, but that needs care and light to grow and unfold its branches so that they can reach outside of ourselves and even further beyond the skies.

Why didn't you write all this time?Did you not remember us in a song?A dance?In the skies littered with stars?Did you not get drunk?Why didn’t you write all this time?Did you not remember us in a film?A book?In idyllic dusks and dawns?Did you not get high?It is good that you didn't.For all is well. I am drunk and dazed.I have already forgotten youand your bewitching ways.

I almost moved mountains, touched rivers, impressed deserts and motivated skies, but I never made it to your heart.

The sky has a huge heart open for all clouds even on the gloomiest of days.

Where in the world would a star be without the love of the sky?

Sometimes it doesn't make sense- the short periods of time we get with the best moments and with people, or their outcomes from their choices.However, if we turn it over to the golden light that flies around us.The breathing wind of the evening promises that we will see the big picture in the hereafter with a new dawn tomorrow.Nothing is too small to be a mistake.

Show them how to fly and they will shine upon the clear blue skies, show them where to fly and they will fly upon the skies

The prairie skies can always make you see more than what you believe.

The only thing I can recall is that it rained all day and all night, and that when I asked my father whether heaven was crying, he couldn't bring himself to reply. Six years later my mother's absence remained in the air around us, a deafening silence that I had not yet learned to stifle with words.

I long to drift through turquoise skies;race the wind in rampant flight.Ruddy chains have framed my eyes,they seize my heart and stain the light.

My ghost is the only soul who ever comes to cry on my grave... Only the skies cried sincerely on my funeral.

Dream takes you to skies and reality just to the bed.

Owning a drone does not a pilot make.

let me diefrom having being drunk onindigo skies, my liver...overflowing with stars.

They talk about big skies in the western United States, and they may indeed have them, but you have never seen such lofty clouds, such towering anvils, as in Iowa in July.

That dandy, the sky, enters blue-suitedsun like a scotch in hand.

Consider, O Lord, how You sit atop the sky;like a man in a glass bottom boat.Consider sky elsewhere; worn thin as a mattress.

Hell-on-skis, can you hear me? This is flying cupcake.

What a selfish boy you are. You wished for the world but all you received were the skies.