I write long stories
Short, medium as well
I write because I think that
I have something to tell

I've met people in my writing
All living in my head
They come to me in daytime
And they speak to me in bed

I don't know if I've met them
There's a chance they may be real
But, they're there inside me living
Letting people know just how they feel

I've singers, painters, dancers
blindmen, kids who like weird things
teachers, stutterers and hobo's
crippled kids and kings

I'm not sure if I've met them
But, by now, I know their names
I know everything about them
And I know, no one is the same

They keep me entertained and
I hope you like them too
I've got to move some boxes in my head
To see if I can find somebody new.

My heart is a golden ghost
that lies in the river at the city limits
yearning for the rays of the night
and the light of the moon to illuminate my sorrows

My mind is a diamond sailboat
sailing through the waters of the coldest dessert
searching for the key at the ocean floor
to kick start the motor of the ticking time bomb

these legs of mine have got eyes of blindmen
oblivious to these shackels of mine
running through the halls of the endless labyrinth
when I get to the end it will all be fine