Poem of a wonderful place where many books was read.                      





                            The
                        Mas­sive
                  Hundred year
              Old tree shaded all
         That came to sit and rest
   It had five hundred limbs and
Leaves to many to count, at the top
                        Lived a
                        Monkey
                        Girl her
                        Hair all
                        Full of
                        Curls!!

Happiness like this is irrational
It is a happiness I do not enjoy
Because it ends up dissipating
One way or another

Dopamine and adrenaline
Run through my body
I feel like I'm alive again
Like hundreds of horses gallop in my veins
And thousands of butterflies fill my stomach

Then you disappear
Leaving me with nothing
But the air you had breathed
And the feeling fades
And it fades
And it fades
And it fades

I've felt your knife,
full tilt up til it's hilt.
It splits my heart in two,
yet each piece belongs to you
So please just go ahead,
pretend to be my friend.
I always will still love you,
and that is the awful truth,
which has no bitter end.

Why won't these words release me?
They abstract me in my mind.
I will find internal peace
if an exit I can find.

I'm sad.
I should know why.
But, to put to words, I'm not sure that I...

Well, you see,
the way I handle problems,
the way I come to grips,
I put my thoughts to paper
as if I pull them from my lips.

I read them, finding meaning;
finding rhythm to my rhyme.
But, this sadness that I feel,
it just won't fit in metered time.
When I try to let it flow
I get a log jam in my mind.
All I get is garbled senses
with truth impossible to find.

Yes, all I do is scrawl confusion.
Yet, maybe that will say it best.
For,
how can I divulge the answers*
when  I never passed the test.