There are places with wonders and dreams
There is clothing that falls from the seams
There are children who laugh without wealth
There are people who smile with bad health
There aren't always tears in the eyes of the poor.
They know on the outside they don't have much,
but on the inside they have so much more.
There are people who go bankrupt or worse,
but they don't always stop to cry
because they haven't yet died.
They live...
That's all
That's all they need.
There are places without wonders and dreams
There is clothing that hangs up from the seams
There are children who don't laugh with wealth greater than great
There are people who don't smile with a very healthy fate
There are tears in the eyes of the kicked down poor
They know on the inside don't have much,
but on the outside they have so much more
There are people who go bankrupt or worse,
and they all stop to cry
because they know there worth has pretty much died
Worthless...
that's all
that's all they are.

When you look back at the happy things,
                                               you just plead in your thoughts,
                                           "let's go back to that time."
                                       But you know you never can.
                           You think about when they were young,
                  when you last spoke him them,
          when she broke your heart.
      You remember everything.
          The sad,
              happy,
               funny moments.
                   Just the memory makes you cry.
                        Memories are painfully bitter,
                            yet sweet,
                               and somewhere in between,
                                  that's where you keep all of those memories.
                                        In a hidden safe,
                                          locked up,
                                          with a key pad that you forgot the code to,
                                    that's where you keep memories no one can see.
                                  The ones you forget.
                           Yet are your most sacred.
                      The memories you forget not to forget.
                 And as you sit alone recalling all of the past.
           As you cry in an empty room.
       As you sob in an airport.
            As you cry and sob and let your tears rain,
                you start to think of the future.
                      The new job,
                        the accomplished dream,
                           the husband,
                               college,
                                     more and more and so many thing,
                                         you heart burst with all of the anticipation.
                                              As you think of the future and past,
                          YOU CRY WITH A SMILE ON YOU FACE

I like chocolate
So creamy and filled
your wildest dreams,
all in one bite.
I like chocolate
the chocolate I love
sweet and unhealthy,
thats right
Yet chocolate is
curious, and
different.
The emotions inside are not always machines.
The feelings you give and take
think about it,
aren't these kind of...mystic.
They hold memories or futures, thoughts, and dreams.
Dreams of futures and thoughts of memories.
Sure there is outside taste but,
don't you taste it?
The feelings, hopes, thoughts and dreams
only by a nibble on it's seams?
Well if you don't it can't be helped.
Savoring taste can't always be developed.
However,
I still want to let you know
chocolate is just as good as cookie dough

He could be the wind,
stroking slightly across my face.
He could be the sand,
calling me to follow.
He could be the sky,
too far to reach.
The only assurance,
I can't be his.
If he were wind,
He would soon fly away.
    If he were sand,
      He'd soon be mud.
        If he were the sky,
           yes if he were so high,
               my touch to his tender skin,
                   would never be.
The only assurance,
                                       I can't be his

Everyone.
They all seem so happy,
while I cry without reason.
Who am I?
A mask without a face?
A dog trained to forget it's old self?
A person walking alone,
not even knowing who they are.
Who am I?
I act different.
I am nice to you.
I am mean to him.
I am energetic to her.
I am too calm to them.
I am never the same.
Who am I?
To call myself human?
To say I am inhuman?
All of it would be lies.
Yet, I am none of it.
I am a wanderer,
on a trail.
I am an emotional wreck.
And I know one day I won't be,
but I will be again.
Over and over.
Who am I?
I don't know.
It was hard for me to figure out myself,
crying and saying, "but, I can't help it"
that just won't help you.
Nothing will change.
Either live in misery or figure it out.
Who am I?
I don't know yet,
but one day I will.
My satisfaction will over-whelm me.
Even if I don't find out today,
or tommarow,
and on and on.
I don't know who I am,
but I am someone.
And one day I will know,
who I am.

Love, what a Widow's day.
First bloom Celosia,
singing in the rain.
Rushing streams faint noises,
in a land some length away.
Dream clouds bathing,
in the clearest sky of blue.
  Children loafing on the chairs,
    complaining, "we have nothing to do."
There are dishes and laundry the plenty,
  but "no way" they always say.
    "Instead of working, or hiding in the house,
       we should go out and play."

sleep,
slember,
til' tommarow,
in the forest of ember.
creep,
walk,
through the night,
the cave too dark and cold.
Munch,
eat,
much food left,
where lion get your prey.
Tommarow there is much to do,
so awaits another day