I am not what you think!
I am a door to unparalleled joy,
I am a wild tree that grows,
I am green even in winter,
For all the world even knows,
Many are my "faults" but none see
What the future brings,
Obedient to the path you follow
That you're told to isn't the right thing.

I am a golden feather, a magic coin,
I float upon the streams to be found,
I can answer you with only this logic;
You are tomorrow, you are the future,
You are going to find your way,
Even if you did so with engel "magic,"
Yours is what you seek. But please remember:

Most importantly,
I am an open door through which you can enter,
Cast off all of your fears, your death and disdain,
Start over, be yourself, leave, come back, go free,
Forget your bitterness and despair,

*...or hold on to all of your anger, your pain...

Beyond the whole of all we see,
Darkness...
Before our short lives we must lead,
Darkness...

And at the top of the mountain
Looking down upon our land
Darkness...
And at the bottom of the dunes
Looking up at hot sun and sand
Darkness...

Before looking at everything "through
A veil," why not face it, ever looming,
Overcoming both "Heaven" and "Hell,"
On the horizon, our hands tremble,
Stomachs crawling. Here I'll soon lie,

*In darkness..

I'm walking through a hall and all is dark,
The night's cloaking me-my candle's but a spark.
All my years I've wasted in this cursed abode,
And I know that I dream of a grey winged ghost.
In my reading attic the bookshelves turn to dust,
My home portrayed rainy, my day gone at dusk.
I feel the draft of deaths chill in my bones,
The ghost in my dreams has invaded my home.
He calls me a demon, a twisted satyr and wraith,
He tells me I'm nothing, a soul wanting grace.
I wonder who calls me, does he follow me now?
The ghost in my dreams must now be around.
In youth at night I'd wake yelling from my sleep,
And in darkness loose my voice, but try to speak.
I soon wake in the dark and catch my breath,
And hope to never return to that bed.
I wish I had my warm parents to light my way
To scare off this spirit who's wings are so grey.
Now I leave this attic with it's books so decayed,
Then the ghost in my dreams is gone and it's day.

I'm going gay, nearly all the way, just let me stay the opposite
Way for a little longer-I'm not stronger than the me that
I somehow always had a choice not to be.

...!?!