What is there to love;
What remains for me?
What it means to feel
What it takes to leave?
What it does to forget
What it takes to recall;
What does a voice mean--
Why does it ring often?
What might love be
What hurts--but what does not?
What has pain made us
What wound has left us?
What does paint say
What do words write?
Tell me, tell me now--
I do not know how.
Why shall we stay
at the end of the day;
What made us leave
What does it mean to live?
What to promise after pain
What to seek after regrets,
To laugh after tears;
To see when rain clears.
What does time keep
What does it let go;
What went loose, went stray
What shall die then?
What does voice tell
What do thoughts do?
Why do minds believe
Why do eyes see?
Why our hands, not feet
What our hearts, not chests
Why does blood flow;
Why do feelings grow?
Why seasons change
Why do years go?
When all stops at night
Why is it hard to know?
I am a child, a little friend
Confused by love and pain;
Too much darkness, and villains
Altered, forlorn, inane.
I am a child, knowing not
Bitter secrets and retorts,
What fantasies mean--
What they have been.
I am a child, a small fiend;
From seeing much disdain
All around me was fake
From a life no-one would take.
I am a child, a rogue hand
I envy their lyrical land;
I wish I knew more sound
Before my years float aground.
I am a child, a mythic
I am unsatisfied with poetics
I used to sing a lyrical song;
Not knowing it was wrong.
I am a child, a cynic
All that is left is antics;
Yet they shall not want to see me
I am petrified here, lonely.
I am a child, a breath
Such a breath shall die;
Even years later, that
When blue fills the sky.
I am a child, a wand
My magic has not betrayed
I want it today, at hand
Then it came to be yesterday.
I am a child, a sonnet
All my paint was in mad red;
The color of roses and dread,
The one love to be met.
I am child, a lover
Although love takes forever;
Who hurries me to say--
Who cannot feel me today.
I am a child, a writer
My fantasies last as ever;
But not knowing to write
I shall learn over the night.
I am a child, a poet
I have travelled wide roads
The roads that heavens gave;
My mother used to have.
I am a child, a star
There seems to be knots in hearts;
I heard a myth, a story
Which are not always pretty.
I am a child, a moon
I hath to understand soon;
What love sees, what perils shed
A tale too swift to be read.
I am a child, a heart
I am with whom night has parted;
I live now, a day at once
I live and play under the sun.
I am a child, a love
That love itself shan’t be enough
I can see that as brightly;
The world has none more to see.
I am a child, a life
Lives are now bland and rife
With all chains and darkness;
No joys stay, nor brightness.
I am a child, a truth;
To look deep in my youth
And find that love hath gone;
Like a morning rose that drowned.
I am a child, heaven;
The whole world feels like hell
And in no time shall dwell--
My poetry is my last haven.
I am a child, paradise--
In such worlds, only live lies;
Love is a fault, a failure
And hatred is the cure.
I am a child, a triumph
With a victory in my doom;
And when faith is gleaming,
I start brightly singing.
I am a child, a fear
They fear that love could still be here
They fear that I could be heard;
They fear I could conquer the world.
I am a child, a fair
And which goodness is unfair?
When all spells hate, why shall I care,
Fools and wicked ran at my dare;
I am a child, a fire
The song of triumph is just, not dire;
My joys are near, closer--
Love is to dwell again, ever.