As I looked into the face of a young boy.
I could see the explosion inside his pupils,
Almost as bright as the grin that pierced his closed smile.
It was all too apparent.
He had an idea.

nothing more than a child with a pencil
a mere morsel in an ocean of literature
not something to pay a bill
something I learned before I was mature
my words work wonderful swan songs that serenade simply bite by bite  slowly swallowing you body and soul. That my words make youforget that a poem is more than a string of words tied to a cannonball meant to make an impact. in fact is a cannon ball will explode somewhere behind the broken memories and hiding demons. That the "miracles" that flow from my mind is nothing but insidious illusions that are shrouded in deeper meanings. When in reality I just want to scream because I've been given all the pieces but I don't have the key.

my hair was harvested with the fall
my skull was frozen with the winter
my body was buried with the spring
I sprouted in the summer

In the midst of my depression, I have noticed omens of my past lives.
the moments left behind in old houses, My habits layed out and discarded on my bed. I've grown estranged to their music and the lyrics that parch my tongue like bread.

The same with people, Not a moment goes by and the image of her grows blurrier. Not a moment goes by and my image grows weaker. and all the while I seek no cure so I must be all the wiser

Living up to the name shouldn't be hard
That the melancholy that ails me is just fortunes card

I'm just merely a prolonged chord on deaths strings.
or maybe a bird caged who wants to spread his wings.
Truly though,
I must be a velveteen rabbit
Burnt among the playthings

How come when I am nearer to sleep
That my eyes should close, not even a peep
I only hope then, that my eyes do not open

Ripped in two pieces at one place
At another time it could've been different
Now that the embers float in the air
Now that I know whats left standing
With the trees beginning to sprout
I'll survive