If I am to die today
to live last hour and pass away
to end a gift I did receive
a chance at pain and joy and greed.
Then the thoughts inside my head would die
my secrets, loves, my thoughts and lies.
And that is why I'm writing this
a poem to express my wish
to let you know the things you shouldn't
so when I die my life it wouldn't.
My life would live in knowledge kept
in things that others wouldn't let
people know about their lives
their secrets, loves, their thoughts and lies.

Poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth
someone once said to try and sooth
the truth they hid from all the rest
who ignore the art, who aren't impressed.
You see poetry is more the art
of uniting truth with what's in heart,
be that pleasure, pain, pride or glory
it's all expressed in one short story.
Such as this about my thoughts
for when I die I think I ought
to let you know my boring story
about my pleasure, pain and glory.

The problem is you see I can't
find a story to enchant
that does not lie, distort the truth
that would not make a better youth.
For now I've realised if I die
today, tomorrow I'd have to lie
to be remembered, kept it thought,
that's something I was never taught.
At last I know what I'm to do
to be remembered, and be true
I'd have to tell you things I shouldn't
so when I die my life it wouldn't
be forgotten, as with rest;
I'd be at peace, completed quest.

She breathes out deeply
with worn out lungs, tired lips,
still expecting those couple hundred faceless friends to say something,
to even acknowledge her.

Of course,
she doesn't know what gives her the right to deserve their attention,
neither does she understand the concept that she,
like others,
happens just to be another face upon faces.
A penny amongst pennies
thrown carelessly into a pool of broken wishes.

Yet, despite the impression her cold experienced smile
still brushing the innocent minds of her
so called 'friends'
would happen to give.

She is, still wishing.

And it's the wish, the one day,
the just maybe that makes all the difference.

See that's the beauty of a wish,
it's something with no value,
it can not be swapped,
sold nor created.

And thus it's such that an acknowledgment,
a simple 'Hello',
can still be held as a wish,
despite it's shockingly slim chances of happening
without  
               actual.  social.  intervention.



*Why are we wishing?

I caught a glimpse, in the corner of my eye.
My heart told me to love her but my brain still made me lie.
I thought about that lie - "She's not the one for you".
Then I caught me staring, and I knew my heart was true.
I try to let my heart rule now,
my brain's too young to think.
They say that young love's sweetest but
I find that hard to link.
I spent a year in her eyes, but didn't feel it pass.
The feeling overtook me, the feeling went too fast.
Nothing seems to matter now, not with her around,
just a moment in her eyes - I know that fact is sound.

I think I saw him looking, in the corner of my eye.
I didn't want to look though 'cause I'm worried and I'm shy.
I wonder why he's looking, is it something that I've done?
I think it must be nothing, I think his eyes hit sun.
I wish that he was looking mind,
yet heart's too young to know.
My heart says let me love him
but of course my brain says no.
I spent a second in his eyes, and felt it last forever.
But brain said no and brain means so for brain is much more clever.
My heart keeps fighting, shouting - clawing at my head.
It hurts I know but must be so or something would be said.

I wish she would say something...
*I wish he would say something...

Today I realised my purpose of being -
I'm aging and waiting for the end of my living.
As each second passes another is lost,
for losing our seconds is our lives given cost.
You'll never feel, never see, never know this again;
this being now - and now - also then:
This is something we know, but ignored for it hurts.
But we can not forget - in memory it lurks.

Wait, no.
If the seconds are cost then what are we buying?
Is there no return that's not hurting or crying?
Have I forgotten the love, the joy in-between?
For each second pain is there not second dream?
I beg for a new eye, a new world to re-live in,
a new place with new laws and new people to believe in.
In this new world I'd be happy and free,
I'd be loved and love, I'd be lucky... not me.

No, I wouldn't be me, not in this world, anyway.
I'd be banished and gone, no new people, no betray.
I've ruined a world, but only the one,
or I've ruined my world, destroyed all the fun.
There's no more sins for me to adore,
they've all been spent leaving brilliant sore.
See I'm aging and waiting, and hurting and crying,
with the seconds I'm spending it must be this that I'm buying.
A blessèd reality, a trap painted gold,
manufactured promises with chances we've sold.
Sold for the seconds that I mentioned before,
the seconds we're spending on that brilliant sore.

*(Oh I really shouldn't think, I think way too much,
I see what this is, the world and the such.
Some people label it, call it depression,
I call it truth, just a big painful lesson.)

I miss the days we'd feed the ducks,
play hide and seek and watch TV.
I miss the days we'd laugh at cats,
their little nose and tiny feet.
Those days are gone, and now we're here.
Monsters and dark were the only fear.
Our little heads were full of glee,
we could play for hours, so much to see.

But now we sit, and hope, and cry.
I wish them back, oh how I try.
We hit an age, and all is lost,
the joy we knew, not worth the cost.
I'm in the days I worry, see.
I'm in the days I care.
Why create this world around us?
At least, for me, it seems not fair.

We could drown the world in drugs, perhaps.
Lost reality, open traps.
But why dent a soul, for each is loved.
I wish, this time, I could ask above -
But that's the answer, not above.
There's always one, a soul, a love.
We know they're there, but fear to try,
to tell that love, to combat shy.

Now think back to those younger days,
lemonade, parties, we did not pay.
But of course those days could not without
a gift, a payment, a thanks, the help.
So remember my love,
and remember it well.
For when hardship returns,
you'll want something to yell.

Childish innocence,
beautiful lies.
As summer begins,
it's spring that dies.
We're taught and we're told
to cherish and love.
But peel back skin,
enough - enough.
As hate prevails
and creature sins;
the lifeless trees,
take the win.
Dead rotting carcass,
smell, too vile.
But fear as I do,
it's nature's smile.