I have a pile, but I am not a mountain. I am walked on daily, yet I never complain. I can travel up and down the stairs without moving a muscle.

For six years I broke on through, until Jim passed his mortal coil. They lit a fire that helped inspire the strangeness people have within. Psychedelic rock and roadhouse blues; we loved to touch... up until the end.

I can seem longer than what I am. I can be creepy if not lit properly. Twins want you to play with them in one of these.

At the crossroads where paths divide, A silent guide stands with arms spread wide. Directions given, none to abide, A sentinel of journeys, by the roadside.

When emotions overflow, silent streams carve paths down cheeks, a storm within without thunder, saltwater released from the soul.