It's strange how this calligraphy
Instills an impression upon your mind.
What's true for me ain't true for all.
We each have our experiences
The meaning that we find.

Our lives aren't ours to abdicate
They belong in all the places that
We seek.
Love will peek
Round the corners of the chairs
We do avoid.
Whispering all our wants and needs
All shy and coy.

Speak them loud or none will hear you.
None will gather all your cloth into the storm.
Until it's yours.
So scream unto the heavans.
Declaring what is yours.
But that is no guarantee
That happiness will fall at your door.
You'll walk the road abandoned
Accompanied by a roar.

Shouting hoarse
Vocal chords snap
Carried away by the breeze.
Broken meoldys succumb
To the pull of gravity.
Fallen leaves know how
Futile the struggle has become.
Screaming words into a mirror
For the self reflections of one.

You will know them not from the smiles
And frowns etched upon stoic faces,
But from the virtue of their hearts
Found in all but the darkest of places.
More often then not they reside deep
Within a tepid grey.
Hunting in the twilight between the
Dusk and the day.
Everything in moderation
Yet nothing is in isolation
Moths to the flame we stray.
Bound to the light
Forever fighting to fly away