Me and my Imagination,
We have this relationship where it feeds my mind with delicacies so sweet,
So tender,
Unlike anything my eyes have seen, my ears heard,
My nose smelt, my tongue tasted,
My fingers felt.


It dishes out and dishes out and yet I turn its fruits away.
—No, I say to it. I will taste of you later. I have a million and one things to do.


"Like what?" It bellows.
"What else have you to do but set eyes on these things foreign and curious I show you?"
"What else have you to do but meet these characters,
the vulpine elegant, the kind troubled,
the frenzied queen, the servant king?"

"What else have you to do than trod through melting clouds,
Traipse through deep marshes,
Trek through a city as quiet and solemn as a graveyard
and rove through a spring that collapses into a vast, vast transparent sea?"


But I—


"But what!?"
"Are you afraid of me?
Do you not like these travels?
These adventures?
These strange and peculiar wonders!?"


I do but—


"Why do you forsake me?
You trap me!"


Please! Calm dow—


"No! You deprive me!
A thousand stories I have fixed,
A thousand you have thrashed.
If not you, my genius I want the world to know.
My worlds, the world to see!
My characters, man to meet!"


I cannot—


"Enough of you!
Bile, and tar,
and poison and weeds I add to the cauldron!
Mix, mix and steer!
To sicken your thoughts and dreams, day and night, I shall!
'til cold sweat breaks upon your forehead,
and fright amaze your mind 'til pen to paper you put!"

Fear had something to say.
And he wanted to say it now.  
So I paused and told him,
“Go on.”

He said,
“I know I’m weighing heavy on your chest;
I see sometimes it’s hard for you to breathe.”
“You know I can’t leave you alone;
So I at least want to give you this tip.”

“Breathe...”
“And work.”
“Be steady.
Don’t feel like you have to do too much at once.”

“Relax.
Let your chest be unburdened and unbothered.”
“Let it go.”
“And try to regain control.”

“You’re doing just fine.
Doing just great.
I know a few mistakes you’ve made
but you can get back on track and get it made. ”

“Try.
You can try again.
You might make it;
And if not, try again.”

“Get your work out there
And let it be seen.
Try and do that
And get back to me”

And I looked back at Fear
And told him “Sure.”
Turned my back on him
And began my work.

I'm screaming
but there are no sounds
like how it torment slowly
my once innocent sinful soul
sees through my brown eyes
are the final hopes of life
I wish I could die in peace
than to live in this freezing breeze
have mercy upon me, Oh Lord!
Embrace me with your grace
And I'll know that tomorrow
Will be pure, calming white as snow

When tears has gone
It meant something
That someone had wiped it
Vanished the sadness astray
Relieved the pain away
Vibrance will be the same
And sunshine would came
Beginning starts at the end
Of yesterday's dark clouds
Because tears are gone
But another rainy day will come
And how to keep calm
If thunders are inside the roof
And how to be happy when
The tears are pouring again
Louder than thunders
Heavier than hurricanes
And the one who wipes it out
Is now the reason why it fell to the ground
When sunshine is there,
It isn't there forever
When tears are gone
It isn't gone forever.

softly, she weeps
warm tears falling,
tracing her contours.
a breeze, so soft,
moves through her.
it's silent tonight,
and so is she.

tendrils of green,
sway above her.
a dance of despair,
of solace and sadness.
and she joins
and moves with the wind.

she thinks and she thinks,
of ephemeral air.
how it stirs and caresses,
then dissipates and departs,
only to sweep across mountains and valleys.

she wishes to be,
no more than a breeze.
gentle but strong,
to be felt by all yet seen by none.

the willow above,
with its weeping green,
grazes her cheeks,
and beckons her gently
to join with those currents,
in their invisible journey.

and so her body fades,
and she leans to the tree,
the drapery of leaves
enfolding her like a lover.

if one were to glance
at the willow tree,
they would see a girl no longer there
would see only tendrils of green,
swaying in the wake of some wind.

in her place,
there is now a silent emptiness.
and the willow still weeps
with joy for her freedom,
in despair that she's gone.

Who would think a rose so sweet
Would dry and crumble at the feet
And blooms that scent the night and day
Would steal a heart, then fade away

With petals soft and fondly red
Sweet essence fills an addled head
Then turns to dust before the eyes
Leaving naught, but sad surprise

Who would think such thorny vine
Could lift a blossom as divine
And by the stem on which it stands
Could so wrong an offered hand

Such strength and beauty is rarely true
A blessing owned by very few
As 'neath the soil, in winters keep
There sleeps a rose to tear a cheek

Who would think that perfect bloom
Could be a bane, a curse of doom
So fine a sight, yet in disguise
A rose to ***** and blind the eyes