One night walking on the sidewalk
Head directed towards the phone, not the mood for talk
Bumped into a lamppost
Noticed it shined more light on my path than most
Said hello and moved on, at the moment I didn’t realize
The light could repel evil lies and equalise, keep me alive and provide key allies
Should have stayed in the light
Then battling the dark would have been a, somewhat fair fight.

I’ve watched you now a full half hour
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless!—not frozen seas
More motionless!—and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!

This plot of orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister’s flowers:
Here rest your wings when they are weary,
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We’ll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

Well now your tears
they don't bother me.
I said your tears
they don't bother me at all.
You know your tears
they don't bother me.
Your tears, now,
they dont bother me at all.
But I'd hate to see you leaving.
Leave me with my back
against the wall.

I saw your train pull in the station.
I heard the whistle start to blow.
Yeah, as your train got to the station
I could hear that lonesome whistle start to blow.
Well, I could meet you down the line,
but where you're headed
I just dont know.

As those wheels got to turning,
so did my heart, girl, ya know it did.
When them wheels started turning,
so did my heart, girl, yes it did.
And I could see you in the window
laughin' like some little kid.

I guess my tears didnt bother you
and you know that's such a shame.
I guess my tears didn't bother you
and ain't it such a shame.
'Cause the reason they were falling
is 'cause you're gone and I'm to blame.

it's better for my poems
if you leave.

He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come

Original thought is not knocking at my door. It seems there's very little original thought at all any more.

Put my brain back in storage up on the musty shelf. Seems everything I believe in is learned from someone else.

I just simply repeat back the things I've  been taught. Year after year repeating thought after thought.

A collection of opinions, words of others that I spout. Seems the easy way, so I open my mouth and they fall out.

The politicians and teachers and experts and the news. Have radically systematically denied my freedom to choose.

Unwitting copycat and imitator who historically repeats himself.  Without a genuine idea, put my brain back on the shelf.

Has everything I've learned and believe and everything I  know, produced an unauthentic me, God help me if it's so.

A wealth of original ideas, that would be my kind of wealth. If not take what I've  got and put my brain back on the shelf.