Allure me with silence, causing a stir of thoughts
In my heart as an ocean, in my mind as a sky,
In all of those rivers which have long since run dry.

Is this your endeavour, to drench yourself in splendour,
Leading eyes away, whilist running astray.
Watching me squirm, with each second of delay.

Perhaps it is not, the outcome you've sought.
Though the truth is so far, from easy to spot;
As any good killer, not easily caught.

I arrange these messes of letters;
Trying to express feelings and thoughts.
Twenty six letters do not suffice
To describe some states of mind.
No metaphors, or similies, could portray
The hyperbole, of self induced dismay.

She was a child of the universe,
Wading through the tall grass
Only stopping to reach up, and touch the stars.

I asked her how the stars felt when she touched them,
She replied, "like sunshine in the winter."
I asked her how they made her feel,
Then she told me, it was far too surreal.

The gypsy queen of eighteen,
Her soul, a map of destinations.
Her actions never needing explinations.
As wild and free, as a ship at sea.
She never was, but she will always be.

That magazine you keep on your shelf,
That you haven't looked at, more than twice.
It holds all of my sympathy,
For I know, of what that felt.

It all started with a few words on a page
And somehow turned into a whole lot more
Cause everything I knew had changed, when I started keeping score

Writing used to be simple poetry,
Instead of the only place my soul feels free.

Does a meaning differ -
By moonlight, aside sunlight..

What invokes essence of being,
Only unveiled by ticks on a clock

For some root into eternity, and flourish through ages;
Live timelessly in a world of time,
so long as those ahead choose to look behind.