Father, I remember
Back when I was in the kindergarten
Back when I used to ride your back

I remember filling my timidly tender hands,
With a handful of love for you
And today,
I see my hands empty,
With my emptied hands,
And your eyes filled,
I realize, that I have grown different,
From you

Finding the cold warm
I snuggle deep into the snow
The flakes of which lie and grow
With each passing moment the momentum grows
My lamentation grows and my heart
The one as cold as ice shows
Though not from within me
From everywhere for each flake of snow is where my heart resembles its cold white glow

I drink delightfully the cold,
Like the wine, some centuries old

Honesty, my friend used to say,
Needs to be pushed,
Dishonesty pushes you,

While his words were handsome,
As much as he,
I dared to reject it,
Though it was in my head already

The sink never fills,
For each rejected drop runs away
Like honesty place at bay
By people, who once were humored in life,
And you helped,

Now they are dishonest,
They are to you,
Cannines you treated, that bit
But you to them,
Are a beautiful cause to life
And a product of their art of dishonesty

She speaks to me, the cold,
In the teeth that clatter,
In the glasses that shatter,
From her blows

The cold reaches me,
I can understand what she says,
She whispers chills,
Into my skin, and it stays,
Until it reaches my heart,

Then suddenly, she blows out
Whispering again, into my ears,
That my heart is colder than her,
Reaching there is what she fears,
Now...

If my words could buy,
Someone like you,
I would deeply chew,
Over words to write more often,

If the words, I speak,
Were the ones you were fond of,
Then all of the words I pick,
Would hover around your beauty,
Like the bees flooding the garden,
With their 'hummmmms'

But, to my dismay
To you, my words are wierd
To you, my speech is a low gust
That couldn't influence your flowers into moving

That is why I write so less about you,
For my poetry, that I so dearly caress,
Might not be so poetic, for you to embrace

I knew not of the world I was living in,
the existance here, as bleak as the mourning clouds,
Trolled by the heavens, and hell alike,
This living, is worthless

Where once flowed the river
Where once blowed the peaceful air
Is now dead
Not as dead though, as the people living there

So as destiny pours stammers on our way
Let everything be done, as they may
I watch the blunders curl
As I pretend to live in this worthless world!