How can I taste thee
When I have never mouthed thee

How can I smile at thee
When I never know what joy is

How can I listen with glee
When my heart has never opened up within

How can this touch moved me
When I have no none, any memories

How can I have ever lived
When am here yet have never been

The world is vast I see

Yet there is no where I wanna be


My yearning does not include this

All that is out there have been


Except that which was given to me

By that which comes within me


This little hand grasping me

Is a string that tugs deep within


All that is precious to me

Comes forth the day I call thee baby

Let the colours run wild

Set them free

A pigment thrown out

Is a feeling live out

Rainbows are felt

When they are way out

An artist speaks out

When the brush gets rub out

These colours don't dye out

Even the day my breath ran out

Once, we were young

Let that not be overrun

For a day might come

When memories look to hunt

For days when we were young

Remember what we done

Alas if that does not come

At least we were young

Ask me if you want

Once, Is only just enough

The happy days are here to stay
For no matter what you and I might say
They are like pebbles made from lumps of clay
Knead and press they were made each fateful day
Spread now on a beach come whatever may
There in my mind they will always remain
Time will come for them to be relived again
Then round and smooth they will feel like only yesterday

What are words
But a lament
That finds comfort in comment
For a heart that needs to vent
When everything else is pretend
Because who knows what will it portend
If silence is used to make amends
Like a bird at its ends
That knows no more then to bend.

its hard to explain what i am feeling now
except to say
that there still feels hope
albeit a faint one
that needs to be rekindled
every once in a while

how long more can i do the rekindling?
that i do not know
except to say
i hope
i can
for as long as its needed.

There is fear in men,
of which I do not comprehend.

Of why they maybe scared,
when they do not even fear death.

The days when they tremble,
not for their lives that they mumble.

But for the face that they put on hallows,
which is really all in hollows.