ever thought
about
how our thoughts
look like

they might be black
they might be white
they may be blank


but
one thing is clear
that;
they're hurtful
they know
******* a
person inside


they always play double games
on our mind;
one is good
one is bad
making us to fight
a war
within
ourselves



we never
deserve
suffering
but they do
make us suffer



oh! look at how,
dark those
thoughts are
yesterday,
today ,
tomorrow,
they **** us inside
day by day
hour by hour
minute by minute
second by second
everyday.

The first notes,
Rang out,
As I plucked her steel strings.

Finally released,
From her soul,
The song of her dawning.

And oh!
How it soothed!
Dripped gently through the air.

And in a moment,
I was free,
All was happy, all was fair.

Falling from the skies,
Comes devastation,
Walls crumble,
As lives shatter,
In an instant.

Just out of reach,
The fires I long for,
Stretch for,
With breaking fingers,
Turning to dust.

Shards pierce skin,
As chaos spills into,
Restless streets,
Monuments mean,
Nothing to rivers of blood.

If there could be a clearer, more perfect breath than this
I would know it only through your lips
And though your whispers may not be pure
They cleanse a bleeding soul of past regret.

Could fear or failure keep me safer than this?
An edge, a line, not to stumble across
For I run from both into your arms but still
Arrive back here again.

Yellow joy,
Wrapped in holly green excitement.

Lavender hugs,
Wrapped in berry red love.

Blue tears,
Wrapped in black fear,
And thrown away,
For a while.

On the moor at midnight,
The stars above my head,
Shone high and bright.

And the lacklustre sound,
Of untrained singing,
Echoed around.

I marvelled at the full moon,
And smiled: "Merry Christmas"
It will be here soon.

For a year I have slaved,
As slave to my pen,
Or to my words,
Message
And form.

But not as an obedient servant.

I struggle,
Grapple with my master,
My monster.
To break from tra-
-dition.
To scream -  I AM NOT A MACHINE!

I do not write out of necessity,
Though at times,
Perhaps I feel I must.

No, I write with a purpose,
Far beyond keeping up appearances,
Or challenge,
Or obligation.

I write with the soul,
My sole purpose,
To speak truth from me,
To you,
In the most elegant,
Precise,
Graceful,
Way this language will allow,
My overactive mind,
To create.

And how far I've come!
What truths I have fashioned from,
Simple things,
Birds, trees, computer screens,
All inspiration to me.

But each time I picked up,
That pen or that laptop,
I opened another door,
Another chamber,
Another corridor of my mind.

And in searching for effect,
Or metaphors or riddles,
Found more meaning than could be,
Conceived by a thousand scholars.

I found something far more precious,
Far more elusive,
Than any moment of awe,
Or wonder,
Or disbelief.

I found myself,
And I continue to find myself,
And it is my only wish,
That through this pen,
These words,
Message,
And form,
I could help someone else do the same.

Am I strong enough?
Could I end everything I fought for?
Just for one last glorious,
Stab at the person I was,
The person I came to be,
The person I could never be but,
Taunted me so,
Close but sep-
-arated from reality,
Too perfect,
Too believable. No!

I could never be them,
How could I?
With my past as it is,
Tainted with betrayal,
Infused with fear,
Pain a part of my very core,
No.

I could never be them,
Never like any other,
My mind split like it was,
Never meant to be together in the first place,
All them around me never,
Understood. Never,
Tried to understand.  Never,
Changed, always the same.
No.

I could never be them.