That blinking line mocks me
I can not move forward
nor can I reverse back
I am cemented in this moment of ambiguity

That blinking line mocks me
I have an idea of a destination
but with no path to follow
So I stay at the beginning tormented by the possibilities


But that blinking lines mocks me
My mind is a chaotic storm of ifs wheres and whats
But I have a story that must be told
It has a start and I'm revving to go

I have often felt my words
         Suppressed by the silence.
Of a thousand voices in a room
         None of which are mine.

They say it isn’t healthy
        To keep it all inside.
But what would they say
          If I really spoke my mind?

They aren’t all kind
         Nor are they always smart
But the thoughts are my own
        I can’t help that part.

Would my friends frown
        Or look at me with disdain?
If I told them I wasn’t always happy
        Like my face always says.

But what other choice do I have
           They want this charade.
Of laughter, of a carefree life
             Even when it's a fraud.

I can feel the encompassing force
           Pressing into my mind
Like the inevitable end of day


      And dawning of the night.

Only death was left.
Death of creatures.
Death of bushes and flowers and trees.

Death coated the landscape like a blizzard.
Layer upon layer it continued to pile high.
They all tried to dig themselves out.
But soon it became so overwhelming  
that the very people who were digging,
were enveloped in its icy grip.

But even as death squeezes the land dry
there will come a day
when even death must die.

I can see the light of Dawn

The everlasting darkness fading

Cold leaving my bones

And the warmth of hope filling them again

Though the stars have lit our way

As we walked down this path

Nothing is greater than seeing the Sun

The gentle breeze of the light melody

Frolicking in my ears

Dancing and laughing as it sways its path into my subconscious

Whole notes stretch out and lay their long bodies

Beside me on the fields

As sticottos run and play in the tall grass.

Half notes brush by

Moving the vibrant flowers into their own beat.

The sharps laugh

as they swing the quarter notes high into the vast sky

Flats let out a chuckle as they push the melody

down the gleaming silver slide.

Music entrances me in their fantasy

Weaving their dreams

Into the very life around them.

It's sad really.
To see the endless adventures go to waste.
To witness them lie  there never to be uncovered.
To never see the dragon vanquished or the lovers finally meet.
To forever lock the words of countless poets and philosophers.
No one will ever gain the knowledge of the written pages.
No more shall people dive into the worlds of fantasy, and escape from their own.
The shelves remain full, the stories gathering dust and mold.
Not a single person cares about the abandoned library on Chestnut Street.