To spartan prose the years are turning,
Coquettish rhyme the years are spurning;
And I - I with a sigh confess -
I'm running after her much less,
My pen has lost its former pleasures
Of daubing fleeting leaves, it seems,
Today, quite different, chilling dreams;
Quite different unrelenting pressures,
In stillness or in social noise,
Disturb the sleep my soul enjoys.

She always dream to feel true happiness
She laugh with her friends behind her sadness
She wanted to escape immediately to that loneliness
Because it seems so endless

As she cries with her broken heart
It's not because she's falling apart
But because she is already tired
Tired of trying so hard

There was a time when we were happy together
The stresses of life were nothing more than the weather
And every smile on our faces brought us pleasure

But there are times in life when the wind becomes fast
And the sunshine turns to rain so the warmth doesn’t last

There is a split in the cloud, where the sun breaks through
That little bit of sunshine is when I see you
Without my sunbeam, what will I do?

Sleep feels good when it does come
Dreaming of the Deep

Off in distant Denver
I dream of Susan Meek

Children in the poorest places
I pray the Lord to keep

I she were here with me now
I'd kiss her on the cheek

Then cry in her arms a thousand years
(I'm still a bit of a geek).

A painted stare,
   for too long she’s left the weight of Mockery
    the grift of desperation in turmoil of chaos
     chained to love ,
    detained by humility ,
    confined by misery,  
Yet there’s madness stained
In the conviction of rage , her plea is fragile

I laid my heart out on a plate
Served it with my soul on the side
After an internal debate
The world moved on, my dreams denied.

What's missing?- The look, the flavor?
What should I change, so it will see?
Will I ever earn its favor?
Or will it just be fantasy?