The Heart Cries

The mind creates,
but hands are still.
The heart cries—
the body does nothing.

Songs you meant to sing
died on your lips.
Dreams,
put to sleep.

The thief, Comparison,
comes in the night.
He steals your passion,
leaves only
wasted time.

Still,
the heart cries.

Mourning—
at the gravestone
of wasted potential.

Here lies my hope.

And the heart cries
for the last time.

I sit
Looking outside from the window
I’m floating in my chair
Headphones on
Mind wandering
To a far away place
Somewhere secret
Somewhere within my soul
There is a meadow
I stand in it
Breathing deeply
I can smell the flowers
Fresh roses and Lilies
I pick blackberries off my bushes
And swim in my rivers
My thoughts become doves
I hum to their song
A tune only i know
A place only i can be
Looking up at the sun inside myself
Glistening through the leaves of tall trees
In my world i climb the trees
And wave at them
They speak to me
As i lay on their branches
Rushing wind takes me back
Carries me outside myself
To a world not my own
But i still remember that meadow
Somewhere within