we may not be the most obvious expressionists,
for we keep our special pen and papers,
folders,
diaries hidden from the world,
and once we enter our secret world,
that's when we fully open up to our paper,
and the  pen becomes a reflection of our hearts,
the thoughts impregnating our minds,
falls like waterfalls onto our paper,
our pen becomes a existing object in our lives,
we create him as our best friend,
lover,
as he writes down all our desires,
secrets,
feelings we hide in our hearts, to afraid to tell anyone what goes on in our head.

The brave soldier
Standing tall and proud
Never backing down
Always ready to fight
Always ready to die

The soldier lost himself
And fell into the enemy line
He stopped fighting back
He give in, he lost.

The soldiers no longer a soldier
He's a poor soul, a lost boy.
No longer proud of who he is.
No longer standing tall and free.
The once proud soldier lost himself in the sea.