All thought the night
The stars and the moon are so bright
My feelings are hard to constrain
But I stand here alone with my pain

Now here I stand
The cold bitter wind on my hands
But I got a firm grip understand
These feelings for you were not planed

Holding on
To these feelings for you
Holding on
Not sure what to do
Holding on
And it's not fair to you
Holding on

Now comes the dawn
A golden blue sky coming on
The warmth on my face I can feel
Please tell me this pain is not real

And in my heart
These feelings for you I impart
And the tears I don't want them to start
Cause that's when it all falls apart

Holding on
To these feelings for you
Holding on
Not sure what to do
Holding on
And it's not fair to you
Holding on

Sometimes, when I get my hopes up, I would imagine a gun in my hands and shoot the flying yellow canary down.
I thought: its life would already have been short-lived, and nothing would have come from it anyway. Better to finish it off fast than to let it suffer.
"The only product of hope is disappointment." That's what I constantly reminded myself.

But then, I realized, what I was shooting at wasn't a canary.

The bird morphed into the shape of a girl, her frightened eyes staring back at me. I knew who she was, I could recognize her anywhere; because I see her everyday.

And then I finally understood.

I wasn't just trying to ****** a bird, or a stranger, or my hopes.
I was trying to **** me. I was destroying myself, starting from the inside out.

I was getting the over-idealistic colours ****** out of my soul, in preparation for the funeral procession that would officially get me stamped and labelled as a sensible, practical, money-making product of society.

slogging through squelching mud or
trudging over frozen, terse, tundra or
wandering aimless featureless freeway
where are you now, what do you see?

how's the view?
                    
                                 how should i know? how could i know?
                                                should i know?  why don't i know? what am i doing here?

is it beautiful, this sky, or strikingly malevolent?
do these colors mean roiling heavens
brimming with destruction
                                            or is that just the sunset?

do you tread lightly and enjoy the stroll,
sprintunstoppabledown the ravine
grapple with impossible terrain?
do i climb at all, move at all, progress at all?
                                                                                No. Too Lazy.
                                                                                           Too Weary.
                                                                                                  am i not? what if i'm not? what if i'm just
                                                                                                                  s    t    a    g    n    a    n    t
                                                                                                                                                                 ?
         Dead Weight. am i dead weight?
                 am i dead?
                                                            

The Trees were once beautiful here-
until I feared                                          fungus
rotting on the inside
eating out the inside
retching from the inside
                                         The Trees were once beautiful here.

"Am I at a Crossroads?" how could i know?
                                       i follow where my fear will let me go
                                                                my fear will let me know
                                                                if it's safe to go
                                                                                                                            only safe to stay, don't go.
Fears, Worries trip down the path,
                        strip away the path
                                           heigh-**, heigh-**, it's off to work we go

was the way always so barren?
what happened to my shoes?
what happened to my walking stick?
what else have i to lose?

Though mountain I would climb
glorious stream I would hear
see swooning vine clutch lover tree;

though valiant travels I would make
                                                  --crossing marsh, scaling peak, battling desert, traversing valley,
                                                     fording river, drinking lake--

bind my eyes, blind my eyes
no pathway i may take.

the way is broken when Fear and Apprehension rule the road.

When you see a love through a camera lens,
it looks different.
It makes you crave or realize;

Crave what you desire most.
Whether it's the desire of someone
And how much you will lust after them.

Or realize what you want.
You're learning how and
what some things can be.
How many possibilities in the world there are.

But sometimes it's too much.
And when you see it,
it makes you hurt.
Physically and mentally left wondering "Why?"

Take it as motivation, ***.

Each day is given to me.
I take it,
the meds smooth it,
the collision impact tween
car and life,
a different kind of hangover,
is "written off,"
through irony delicious,
by writing.

it is not strange,
it is not unusual,
that clarity obtained,
afforded, by the
unexpected.

I am stained,
a stained glass window,
the early light coming through,
illuminated and repairs,
enlightens and softens,
renews, both me and
the floor's cold stone slabs,
where my knees
touch the ground,
confirm to me
I am well,
alive.

I do not run.
there is
no compulsion,
no need,
for the direction is
clearer now,
the signs point forward,
this way,
exit the roundabout smoothly,
on my way to my centre.

*Words i wrote in a way that someone majestically rewrote for Me - such a pleasure

I longed one kind look from you emlan
when you passed by me
now I wish to sit in silence
with you by the sea.

A stolen glance was all I did
when passed your fragrance
too little of you was all my need
I knew to keep distance.

If our paths meet ever again
if ever can dead love rise
I would not let you pass by
but look deep in your eyes.

There must still survive the ****** land
longing rivers dried in sands
unspoken words woefully shy
chance lost with time gone by.

If we now come across emlan in the faraway land
I would not shy away to reach and touch your hand
walk this time on the quested path not letting go the chance
of finding you in the wholeness and not as a passing fragrance.