Your name gave me hope, because it was something new.
But sadly I already can see what you're going to do.
You promise that you're different, but I could argue back.
That you stabbed me in the heart, and watched it rot to black.

You're just like all the others, so why should I even care?
Changing your appearance like the color of your hair.
I'm the loser at the bar with his eyes glued to the phone.
In a crowd full of people, I still remain alone.

Uninspired and undesired, I wallow in my fate.
Watching the rest of the world from just behind the gate.
I'm afraid of rejection, but afraid of acceptance more.
Intimacy terrifies me, down to the very core.

i don't know if i'm feeling everything
at once or if i'm not feeling anything
at all

Sometimes I get this special mysterious feeling ,
Sourced from the bottom of my heart
And spread all over my hand ...

That feeling of the keenest need for writing
Yes , I need to hold that pen and start toying with words ,
Pouring them all over that blank page ...

Words start spreading like never before
Their letters dancing gently
Following the inspiring trills of my heart beats
Drawing  fascinating picturesque lines
Waiting to be born once they are read ...

Filling one blank page after the other
Seeing the infinite universe opening in my sight
Thoughts running ,
Words laughing,
In the terrific nature's gleam and radiance
Prevailing such a flimsy slender touch of art ...

Need to be drawn, need to be felt
Spreading light , inspiring hearts
But if I don't hurry !!
They will soon loose their power
And I'll loose my super feeling ....

1654

Beauty crowds me till I die
Beauty mercy have on me
But if I expire today
Let it be in sight of thee—

I read that he lost a suitcase full of manuscripts on a
train and that they never were recovered.
I can't match the agony of this
but the other night I wrote a 3-page poem
upon this computer
and through my lack of diligence and
practice
and by playing around with commands
on the menu
I somehow managed to erase the poem
forever.
believe me, such a thing is difficult to do
even for a novice
but I somehow managed to do
it.

now I don't think this 3-pager was immor-
tal
but there were some crazy wild lines,
now gone forever.
it bothers more than a touch, it's some-
thing like knocking over a good bottle of
wine.

and writing about it hardly makes a good
poem.
still, I thought somehow you'd like to
know?

if not, at least you've read this far
and there could be better work
down the line.

let's hope so, for your sake
and
mine.