I'm the victim of my own
          actions
                    when you say you love me

I'm the enemy of my own
          heart
                    when you try to hold me

I'm the phantom of my own
          reality
                    when you dream about me

I'm the closed door of my own
          life
                    when you try to free me

I'm the past of my own
          future
                    when you decide to leave me

Beauty,
          is what she looks like
Sadness,
          within her light
Darkness,
          comes with her presence
Wings,
          carry me in the night
Mountains,
          hold us way behind
Winds,
          when skies are tight
Luck,
          is all what we need
Happiness,
          is far from my sight
Future,
          is not coming through
God,
          please make things right

Sometimes, writing poetry feels like...

Playing Charades using metaphors to describe your actions
Solving Jigsaw Puzzles to assemble your current thoughts
Using Ouija boards to converse with your own feelings

Sometimes, reading poetry feels like...

Playing Poker when you study the writer's intentions
Connecting the poet's thoughts as if you were playing Dots
Figuring out the writer's feelings like in Strings

                                                      ­         Anyways, its always *fun!