Through windows, in wishing wells, whispering in the wind...that's where I find you.

In that wounded place, buried betweenmy ribs and letting go, I miss you.

I die a little, In the echo of your silence.

I was just an option.Blown easily to piecesand offered to the skyby the sweet laced painupon your lips.

I can't love anymore.Except for you...I love you so much it hurts to breathe.

Bridge burned from end to end, and I don't miss you anymore.You delivered silenceI've birthed freedom.

You are the poemthat sticks in my throatteaching me to whisperwith the voice of my heart.

I've never seen beauty so devastatingas in the linesthat trace our hopeand fall from the stars.

Steep fall to the groundshatteringlike clay pigeons missed by bad shotsand unsteady hands.

Broken.As I search for hope, In the same eyesI lost it.

I build boxesand place them at your feet, to measure the distance between dreams and reality.

Make no mistake, little human. You are under my protection now, and I protect what is mine.

Chris: I don't know why it is, but every time I reach out for something I want, I have to pull back because other people will suffer.

Government is not reason it is not eloquence - it is force.

I am my own muse, the subject I know best.

For every dream that you have, your week needs to match that dream.

It's all very well to have principles, but when it comes to money you have to be flexible.

Most are expecting 5 percent to 10 percent hikes, but there are rumblings of far nastier surprises.

Political parties exist to get bums on seats.

I am not a hero. I just did what any decent person would have done.

No experience is ever wasted. Everything has meaning.