It guards between unseen and understood,
shaped by pain and pleasure, holding
the instrument of artwood in one hand,
success and failure in another,
its significance is never shaped by
knowledge and fame, and
it never pours us rain, it needs
the sensitivity of an artist and
the hands of a craftsman to enter
it's unforeseeable beauty
it never comes too early and
it never comes too late, and if it comes,
it never comes to solve the puzzle,
it only blends the light and darkness,
it guards between unseen and understood,
receiving the elusive soothe, imagination
twisting its ordinary space midway.

I have never been employed or earned any money for the work I do. And yet I still have a job to do.

For I am the door keeper, a guard, a lookout... a friend.

My job is simple yet complicated, for I have many jobs rolled into one.

I stand by the door and wait for people to approach me. Some talk to me, most people don't. Don't you know that I do my work for you? I don't get paid for my work, but I still think it's worth it to keep working.

I am the door keeper.

I stand by the weak, injured, and the broken with the strength I still have. When the people who I help finally regain their strength, they walk away from me, not even leaving a "thank you".

I am the guard.

When danger arrives at someone else's doorstep, I am there to see that they are not harmed, I will warn the of danger and guide them out of harms way.

I am the lookout.

Whenever you need me I will be there, I'll hold your hand and help in any way I can. I will always be here.

I am your friend.

I have always been here, but people don't see me anymore. I have become a ghost. I wonder what it takes to become alive again. But I can't just leave, whether or not people see me. I need to keep working. My job doesn't cost money, it costs lives.

A treasure more valuable than money.

I can't stop working.

I am the door keeper watching for their smiling faces. I am the lookout for their lives, and the guard of their hearts. But most importantly a friend.

A friend they might never see, but I'm still here.

I can't leave just yet. Because I still have a job to do.

please don't let me go,
I always tell you so;
my heart won't bear
yet another tear--
please don't leave me,
as I can only be
happy as a ray of light
dancing through the night
with you by my side
not fearing for cover to hide
and place my guards up high
afraid that love is a lie;
so stay, and please don't go,
for I may not know
how to smile again,
only knowing how to use a pen
to illustrate my tragedies
through poetic strategies

Without a further notice! She sneaks he way out into my tired Heart!
Without anymore will left for me! She hypnotized my guards and centered in the middle of my old Castle!
All my belongings became her! I became an alien in the center of my own soul!
I feel the urge to ask my Heart....What do you want?
What you will gain in letting her in?
Where do you want to end up with those emotions?
How do you imagine the chapter will be closed?

There is Urge!

The urge to run to nowhere and have that unseen peace!

That is the Urge!

Am I willing to leave The Maze!!!  Although my name is Mazen!!

Or....

Should I change my name?  Or.... my Heart?

Under the clocks there was a man
Whom I saw beside the ticket machine.

Passengers of the train
Come and go
Towards a destination of their own,
But he seems already at home
Under the clocks, below the railways;
Or is the station his only find?
Dressed in confusion and mental
Isolation from the sight of
Busy Melbournians.

Left to be sold to
First impressions and
Entertainment for the passersby,
But he receives none
Of their trampling feet
And their questioning eyes:

For when he shouted mumbling
Words at men with
Badges and gun machines,
As they did their inspection
In and out of his clothes and his
Bare feet,
He knows one thing and
One thing only -

He has a place to go,
But where?

She won't let you see.
Why?

They're all one in the same.
Yours and hers,
Hearts both on the table.
Only hers is halfway off the edge.
So close, but you just can't touch.

She won't let you see.
Why?

Intimate and passionate as one.
Yours and hers,
Bodies both skin to skin.
Only her bra will never come off.
So close but you just can't touch.

Her body,
Will never be naked.
Physically and Emotionally.

Why?
She won't let you in.

Tobias.
A handsome, broad-shouldered man with soft earth-brown eyes,  that lived in 18th century England, who then came to America with his mother and father plus his eight brothers.
He would die of fever at the age of 23.
After he died,  he did not move on to the afterlife, instead he was chosen by a group of elders called The Guard.
As a Guardian, he was tasked a keeper of human lives selected  by The Guards' standards as 'changers,' or humans that change the course of history.
Tobias rejected his forced calling and attempted to abandon his task.
The oldest of The Guard, Helten, a man thousands of years old (only looking 40), approached him and asked a simple question, "Why do you want to truly die?"
Tobias was silent,  until Helton added,
"There is a Shift after your changer."
Shifters, or Shifts,  are the enemies of the Guardians and their mission is to destroy all changers so that Shifts can take their place and change the world to their liking.
Tobias added gruffly,  "Which one?"
"Daniel."
Tobias' hand squeezed into a fist. He hated Daniel ever since the 1920's. He wanted a rematch since that idiot tried to **** his charge for a cigarette.
Tobias wanted to punch him.  Hard.
His eyes flashed crimson,  and his fists turned blue flame.
"Where is he?!" Daniel growled.
Helton smirked,
"Pennslyvania."