You have shown me hope on the other side of time,
but all I see is the void in between.
I stand at the edge and try to see far,
and I fear that you will push me in.

I see myself falling,
dark clouds, thunder and lightening surrounding me,
struck through the heart a thousand times,
and after all the pain, mania settles in.

The devil will take residence in my mind,
and where my tears have fallen,
you will see me, as I am,
a fragile man that you have shattered,
and on the broken glass of my soul, you shall rest,
and your scars will mirror mine.

Of all the letters in all the languages,
Of all the syllables,
Of all the sounds that we can make,
Of all the possible variations,
and combinations thereof,
all vibrations of air,
your name is the one I hold dearest.

I'm full of fear and my heart grows numb,
I try to speak but I'm struck dumb,
is there anyway to convey the words I'm trying to find,
I would let my actions talk but you seem blind.

I have spoke to you a thousand times,
each one just a single line,
a stutter, a silence, my tongue fumbles,
I try to think but my mind crumbles.

A flower left down by your feet,
I look up and our eyes meet,
My heart bounds out my throat,
you look at my hand and see the note.

I look in stunned silence, staring at what I hope is my fate,
you weren't meant to open the door until I'd left through the gate,
you read the letter your lips moving as you do,
you look back at my with tearful eyes and move you lips again to say "I love you too."

I never did see the stars from my dark room.

I never felt the cool air on my skin,
or ever hold it in my lungs.

I never swam in the sea,
I can imagine the buoyancy,
but not the cold.

My legs never developed enough strength,
to walk along the beaches,
or climb a mountain,
or crawl across carpeted flooring.

I've felt the vibrating voices,
the calls to be.

I've tried to kick and push my way out,
I'm waiting to be pushed down,
I long for that first cry,
but I am trapped,
in decay.

I have a hard time
linking words to emotions
and emotions to actions
and all this to meaning.

I'll slowly build up
my library of feeling.
But I wonder exactly
what I was missing.

When I scrutinized us,
I did so without seeing.
I thought I knew all.
I saw my own meaning.

Life doesn't have meaning;
what it does have is people.
Now I say what I mean,
and I listen to feeling.

I've struggled with friends,
with parents, and with brothers.
I knew motivations
without knowing them.

Now I start to see people.
We're closer together.
Done connecting the dots,
we connect to each other.

It was impossible to make all the same mistakes after the collapse,
what was left of humanity moved far from the deserts and found the last slivers of green earth.

Learning to grow food was easy and intuitive,
books survived and so then did knowledge,
many buildings stayed standing,
and held within secrets of the past.

Solar panels were warmed by the sun,
turbines harnessed the wind,
but oil, gas and coal had been depleted by the before people.

Deforested sands were soon seeded,
succession gave way to the trees,
and with new life poison was leeched from the sky,
the after people breathed increasingly easy.

They rebuilt all that they could,
and from the foundation of the past,
they built a new future.

Dear mother,
I love you,
but I don't,
don't know what to do.

I've not felt right,
for so long,
I don't know what's left,
I feel so wrong.

I've walked a lonely road,
leading away from society,
been drinking too much,
and long for sobriety.

It's why I look so sad,
even though I say I'm okay,
It's why I have so much fun,
but come home with bloodied fists
at the end of each day.

I can put on that smile,
wear it with bright eyes,
but as soon as I'm alone,
the light dies.

I'm not sure what to do now,
so I write to you mother,
I know you have been through this,
we are a lot alike each other.

I hope you understand,
why I've hid this from you,
because I don't want to worry about me,
or what I might do.

I don't like pills,
or men in white,
so I've made my own therapy,
and I've learned to write.

I am painting this dark picture,
so you know how bad I can feel,
but I end on hope,
that maybe I can heal.

It certainly ain't a cure,
I don't think there is one,
but there is easement,
and I'm certainly not done.

So for now I write this letter,
and head off to bed.

Yours Lovingly,

ED