I'm always alone.
Whether I'm in a crowded room,
Surrounded by bodies of friends or family;
I am always alone.

I'm always lonely.
It doesn't matter if I've got people to talk to,
A shoulder to cry on;
I'm always lonely.

The worst thing about
Being mentally unstable
Isn't knowing you are
But having to live a life like no one else knows.
                                                       (K R W)

Into the river of poetry I pour my prose,
Flowing tears of written hopes and woes.

I watch as it mixes in the rushing streams,
Dancing with words of others' nightmares and dreams.

Released from my heart, it washes away,
Leaving me cleansed to live another day.

I was rocking
back and forth,
up there in the tree
that hung its branches
right over the wishing well,
in the backyard
of this old abandoned home

I was thinking
of a time,
when it was just me,
I was alone

I had hopes and dreams,
of a bigger brighter moon
that I could reach for,
and achieve all that could be

And then I fell
from that tree,
I broke what hope I had,
I laid there for a while
as the breeze
took over the leaves

The sky clouded over
and it began to drizzle,
all over the flowers
that were next to me

They appeared as though,
they were writhing with pleasure
for the rain was helping them grow

The beauty,
and the stillness
back there beneath the trees
was wondrous,
the chilling calmness
wrapped around me
like a warm fire
on a fall evening

It was always hard
to leave that place behind

The world is so full of
the constant need for contact,
the tempting screens
showing us what we should be

It sickens me at times
when I want peace,
but the distractions consume me

The times I spent in that tree,
helped me to see what truly matters
in this life,
and it's not the comfort of the tv screen,
it's not the blaring of the radio,
it's not the brand names of useless things
it's not any of those things

Life is continuously growing around us,
and what are we doing,
but losing life in front of a screen,
forgetting what it all means

The seed was planted,
A flower born,
You nurture her with tender hands
And protect her from high winds.
You don't cut her thorns,
Though they might ***** you,
Because they're part of her
You love the beauty she brings to your garden
And in turn she loves the beautiful garden wherein she grows.
Any man who plants a seed
Should be prepared to love the flower