I shall liken to the fact that I am indeed, alive and not dead,
I shall be satisfied that air penetrates my nostrils and breath radiates my skin,
To be sanctified in Him shall be more than all else striven for,
Yet, incomparable to the fact is how dead life acts,
I am a poorly driven soul that is starving for what I cannot yet have
And to have everything I shall need and want more, is nothing brave of me,
I am a selfish human being, who craves the instant gratification found in flesh
And words, and romance, not Truth and Love is what such men cannot even afford,
What shall I liken to this generation, a bleeding heart? A dulled piano in search for notes,
A key lost without a lock to be had, or words that are endless in my rambling head,
I fear what I am looking for, is what will never be had of me, I fear, that I may be lost among the darkness,
That I may be one-in-of-the-same, a vapor, a piece of pain, a washed up vine thrown among the sea,
Where art thou my Romeo, where o where do you hide your face, where dost thy go to awaken thy graven soul,
where shall I spot my face to yours, where may our eyes may lock and our hearts may soar?
Is there not yet a lover among thorns, is there not yet, some love to be formed,
To be found, to be had, am I not some forgotten old hag, where do dreams liven up to reality and where can satisfaction be met without dread?
I shall frolick the lilies, I shall strike another match, to dance where no turning back is necessary,
And to reach the cup that was set down amongst the parched is where I shall find my reward.