Hints of Eve exist in me
Whispers slither in my ear
And I am enticed again
By a deceiver

I never loved you
I worshiped the monument
I built of you in my heart
But it wasn’t you
A statue of a man isn’t the man himself
But a chunk of rock, steeped in myth and fantasy
And now I’m tearing the idol down

Never let the cares of this life confine you to an existence of stagnation and inactivity
Never allow fear to **** the wonder in you
Always leave room
For adventure in your heart

I yearned for a garden
So I purchased a field
Planted seeds with hope
And anticipated the yield
My garden grew
Rich and green
An opulent crop
Surpassing what I dreamed
My garden was so fruitful
I had so much to spare
So I gave and I gave and I gave
I gave until nothing was there
I gave so much, I had to borrow
From another’s crop
So I could maintain the giving
And filling up others cups

But the harvest dried
All I had was gone
And those I’d given to
Had all withdrawn
Winter arrived
I considered the sum
I had thrown feasts
And received only crumbs
I had moved mountains
Spending more than I had to spend
I did this for love
I did this for love of my friends
But in giving I forgot the Giver
He who gave first to me
He Who laid down His life for His friends
The Shepherd who sacrificed Himself for the sheep
He who gave the field
He who made it grow
He who brought the rain
And multiplied what I’d sown
I did it wrong, pouring out to these who consume, but don’t stay
Now only for Him, the Giver of givers
He has given me more than I could ever repay

I would’ve cut open my chest if he needed a heart
Wrote sonnets with my tears
Harnessed the thunder just to impress him
Bathed in starlight to entice him
Tread through shadows to get to him
Died to prove to him
I love him
But I realized I was burying myself alive
For a boy, who wouldn’t even visit my grave

Sometimes the expectation of the storm
Is worse than the actual storm

Some will never be content to listen to the music Written by another’s hand
Conceived from another’s mind
Some have an impulse akin to insanity
The urge to create
To produce something organic, original
And through madness and sorrow and ecstasy
must write their own music