i am all but confused
My shadowy thooughts dance under the rain while a part of basks in sunlight.
I am all but empty
I claim satifaction with an all rounded sense of hungered.
i am all but vain
I bath in my glory yet to be proven to mankind

Where does my motivation and depression come from?
i fear that i canot tell.. a pity
In love i am tenderly caressed but with fleeting values
In bitterness, i am a wounded lioness seeking revenge,
hurt but with a focus.

I am tempted to ask myself,
where does thy motivation come from?
From the posionous romance of shakespeare?
From words abouts the sullen hull?
From temptations of the daffodils?
From the pain thst lurks therein?
From the sweetness of nature's gift?

Sadly, as i reminisce my past inspirations
I who was oce dull, tentatively recall the forms in which they came
From the bitterness and Sweetness of my heart.