I wish not for glorious riches
I seek not for fame and pride
I dream of a home to look unto
a place where I can be alive

I whisper not prayers of uncanny health
nor wish for eternal wisdom's guide
I dream of whispering "I love you"
to my woman, to my child

And yes, I dream of doors wide open
to my return from a laborious day
and sit to find some bread and porridge
to warm the coldness of my summer's day

So that I may lay round a crowd of few
and close my eyes so weary and sappy
and to barely utter my last words
this, is what will make me happy.

An empty space looms around
and violence shakes the underground
I search with hope, but none can be found
with voiceless cries I shout without a sound

And every glance that pierces me
reminds me of why I am not free
and every mutter seems like spells
of scrutiny cast from it's wells.

No rhyme no rhythm no symphony
can ease the burden of my agony
and the tales of providence that people see
are nothing compared to the emptiness in me

Oh how each day seems bleak and blue
since the day that I lost You
My hope, my pride, my teardrop burst
That's when I knew that it hurts

Another one closes and shuts
I am over the fence...
whether to be relieved, or to leave
Or to be a friend

At least the boundaries were set
and yes, we did try
though the trial was brief,
it was definite in her eyes

Closing another chapter is both
bitter and profound
both scarring and joyous  
but the pain remains some how

We were sipping the night away,
with paper cups and mini stops
as the evening turned to dawn
and my smirks hide my tear drops.

Knowing

Every morning I find myself whispering your name
Remembering thy subtle touch and joyous eyes
Even now I feel that things are  not the same
Now I need to know you behind your guise

Once there was a holy man
Who built his life with God
and worshiped without holding back
who surrendered everything he got.

Once there was a brave man,
a young fighter of sorts
who fought valiantly, fearlessly,
a champion in the King's court

Another was a poet,
who dared to love and lost
who looked at every person's eyes
to see their light the most

But these persons have died
one after the other
first the holy man perished
then the poet and then the fighter

And every day since then,
I have visited their sepulcher
to reminisce the times we had
to never forget, to always remember

And I dream that one day
I will cross paths with one of them
the priest, the fighter, the poet
to exchange our emblems

Oh I have been
and will always be
a man fulfilled outside
yet really empty

This is me

After the battles that made me both strong and weak
after all the agony and the losing streak
Behind the cumber of memories, where I both lived and died
and the absence of emotions where I laughed and cried.

Oh the strength of my youth is fleeing so swiftly
and my being is exposing my every frailty
what I once feared to become is who I have turned to be
Oh, the lost which once was found was taken away from me...

But,
This is me

Though calloused and lost
Though pained and insecure
Though stabbed and wounded
Though forsaken by many

I still live, and for that I am secure
My bleak future is ahead, and with that comes hope
For I have seen in the past what really matters most,
for I believe that the things which can be lost
   are things which can be attained once more

So let the hopeless romantic rise
and the dreamer see visions once more
Let my feeble hands and scarred sinews
regain their strength toward the final blow

For my battles are over but my war shall not end
and though each blow becomes tougher-
so tougher too shall I become

I look at my hands, shaking, numb
I recall my dreams, like shadows moving
I feel my heartbeat, strong, yet afraid
and I take my deep breaths to feel my life

This is me.

Always close the door, don't let anyone in.
There will only be
Me, myself, and I.
For others take,
Knowing that it's natural for me to give.
But when tables are turned...
The ones who received
Have closed their fists,
Smiles turn to grins
Praises to mockery
Blessings to curses
For their thirst to ask
Is a ne'er ending cycle
Until but a stump I shall remain.

So close the doors, shut mine windows.

This is my note to self.