Every wooden sanded edge
Every rippling river smooth with skipping stones
And metal ridges sharper than swords well-hewn
The kind which pierces even the heavens reign
And pours down thunder like an autumnal coat
I know, I know, of even such a place
Where the summers howl and the winters winds
Gently blow out candlelight stars below
And there also you will find such out
In the pouring of the heart and soul
I am the one
No doubt

I lie to myself sometimes.
Tell myself I'm fine,
That I can live without it.

I miss seeing my breathe
pour out in front of me,
so I can see my inside.

fog up the glass
that is telling me lies
It is not the true mirror.

I never thought
I'd miss it
as much as I truly do now.

The truth is I felt
That it didn't matter
what I wrote.

Now I know,
poems, don't just help
you cope.

Poems have the key.
Show the mirror
of what we could achieve.

They do not just
tell the past,
the pain, and woe.

They will help us fly.

-3nwlry