While passing by a great Gothic church,
I see sullen skies begin to glower:
a looming wicked curse
above the church corona’s tower.

With bruised blue clouds brewing black
in the bellowing wide heavens,
hearts pounding, all shrink slowly back:
Blazing bolts scream and threaten.

Here comes the gale force shrieking wraith!
Take shelter from the storm
in the stout fortresses of your faiths
built with those who keep you warm.

For though some tempests last
over rocky spans of fears,
all the maelstrom’s wrath must pass,
even if it lasts for years.

In these sturdy stones you’ve laid,
rebuild for the coming of new days.

For a second I had this thought
that I was more than what I’ve always believed
the propelling waves of feelings won't always connect to thinking patterns
they don't make sense, so I try to make sense with no building blocks

For what am I but a barring brook
a lifeless seed
a broken flair
following or trying to lead
will I just end up in despair

For what am I but a quenching thirst for the drenched
a feast for the satisfied
a cry for help from the saved
a missing piece for the finished puzzle

I feel out of place at the right time
So who am I?
For what am I?

You love me.
But do you love me.
Or do you love that I'm here?
Is love a permanent?
Or a temporary?
Is it a right now?
Or a loss if I leave?
Is it who ever is by your side?
Or is it a me when there is others?
Would you choose me at the loss of your freedom?
Or would you write me of as an expense of living?

Running towards your own death,
voluntarily.

It’s waking up with an immediate anxiety attack
over having to eat to survive.

Every bite denied is a victory over desire
and a demonstration of
self-control
in the most
out-of-control way.

When the changes come
will winter winds still blow?
What world will we see
as quicksilver higher flows?
When this time is past
will songbirds still be heard?
Will parents still tell children
of the bees and the birds?
Will grandchildren know about
lightning bugs in the dark?
Will lovers still know what’s meant
by butterflies in their hearts?
May those gifts that we leave
for those who come hereafter
not become the close
of this book’s final chapter.

we are waking up every day
with so many things on our plate.
Even if the whole day feels empty,
our minds are heavy like lead.

We are leaving early to live our life
but we are always arriving late.
We are ******* the air in
but we our lungs aren't breathing.

We are searching everywhere, we are trying all the time,
but we don't know what we are wishing to find.
We are living every day
but no one is feeling alive.

We are fantasising every night
But we aren't sleeping.
We are wanting more everyday
But we are gaining nothing.
We are talking about living life
But we are burdened by everything that's  coming