The heart is tired and growing heavy,
the body's calling me to sweet sleep;
I say so long for things today,
as the land of Nod in stillness creeps.
I will dream and not remember,
I will wake, let's hope, refreshed;
even in the fog of early morning,
as sleep and wakefulness, are meshed.
Goodnight to friends and fellow poets,
thanks for all the joys you bring;
that tug at our emotions daily,
that cause the weary soul to sing.
Sharing grievance with the world,
sharing every happiness;
without your voices heard and raised,
your poems would all be sorely missed.

There is nothing from my life that i want.
I sit alone quiet and got nothing to Flaunt.
Still people can't pass by without making a Taunt.
They say its abnormal , In future it will come back to Haunt.

I don't have passion for any thing.
I say it's not a sin, am happy even without any Zing.
Still people say a Man must grow a pair of Wing.
And one should try and try till you become King.

No answers i Seek for my Question.
I do not wish to make any Impression.
Why do people Have this Obsession
They want it all for Their Possession

i ask everyone to make a confession.
and let me know is it me? or the people?
Who is in DEPRESSION?

I spend a lot of time in bed,
But not enough time sleeping.

Most of the time I'm smiling,
But internally I'm weeping.

I find I'm constantly day dreaming,
But never actually believing.

I try to hold it together
But as you may see; I'm screaming.
                                                       (K R W)

The sun's gone dim, and
  The moon's turned black;
For I loved him, and
  He didn't love back.

Words are tossed around ever so carelessly.
Do you ever wonder if you're hurting me?
If you didn't know, you are, and my wounds bleed for you as a result of your verbally aggressive roar.
Flesh on show, bones exposed I yell in despair "this is all for you my dear" as I take off my clothes.
The water is so icy it resembles your personality. My toe slips in testing if it is death worthy.
Eventually I am eye level with the water as I fearfully flap for my life, the dark demons below are pulling me under as I panickly shouted "this is all for you my dear" and disappeared into the pool of despair.

SWEETHEART,

FOR SOME,
LOVE IS THE CURE.

AND

FOR SOME,
LOVE IS THE DISEASE.

nobody ever really
fully grasps a concept
what we know
are merely shadows
just empty projections

we try to make
illusions of convesations
exchanging nods of affirmation
yet are devoid of comprehension

we dine with strangers
whose whims, whose dreams,
whose greatest fears
we think we know
but no

along never ending
mirror walls, we walk
surmising our reflections
as who we are
even how disfigured,
distorted they may be

all we do is crawl
inside ill-lighted caves
pretending to know
what lies ahead
until we stumble
until we're dead