I miss those midnight walks,
Those alone times with sticks and stones and rock...

Clad in a thick jacket,
Earphones in my ear sockets...

Not for the music though,
But to keep away that eerie silence that seems to flow...

I miss those walks,
When to myself I talk...

That somehow by being alone,
I could free those bottled up feelings my heart borne,

That somehow all those emotions,
By the moonlight would dissipate and with nature find perfection...

I wish I could see myself as another,
Seeing what other people saw but don't know for sure...

I always think the darkness helped,
It seemed to shroud and protect...

The day did not have that,
It was filled with eyes, and stares and ALL of that...

People are afraid of the dark,
It has that feeling so bleak and stark...

But ah, those midnight walks...

How I miss those silent times...

The dark was not really dark...

For nothing can compare with the dark hole of my heart...

her face, moonlight, diffused
pure art, creamy, curved
hands of finest sculpture
alabaster smoothed
delicate strands, her hair
of softest gold
floats, she dwells in stars
Venus, high priestess
magnetic force above
ever invincible
ruler of love

Time is a valuble thing;
and although it is merely a concept we came up with ourselves,
we still tresure it deeply.

"I don't have enough time"
Make your own time,
If you want so badly for something to happen,
you have to make it happen.

I've been sitting by for too long waiting for things
to fall right into the palm of my hands.
I wanted the world to give into me.
Then i realized; the world wasn't mine to dominate.
In itself, the world is it's own being,
For years its been captivating life far beyond our capibility.
And for people to think that our mother earth as just an object,
that we can take complete charge of,
is simply a misunderstood idea.

You see; you are exactly like the world,
You are your own being,
I wanted you to fall into me,
but then I realized that you can not take charge of other living things.
You have to let them live on their own.
If they so choose to do things for themselves; let them.

Live for yourself, not others.
Help out when you can.
Love often.
Let things grow.

Thy repeated endless cycle
Of dawn the new start
And of dark the end of old
But ever the same despair
On a continuous motion of light and dark
The sense of being nothing more than a rag
Torn and tattered
Oh will there be a day!
To not be used for
To clean the filth of others
Or belittled to feed others egos
alas!
No!
Thy cycle shall reign once again
And time wont mend the wounds
That of a torn rag