Maybe tomorrow
Or will it be today
My voice will ring
far and wide
and I will have my say.
I have thoughts and dreams
I have so much to give
I have no empty feelings
and my head is not a sieve.
Listen, that is all I require
Just to be quiet and give me praise
But my bits of paper are tossed out
and they land in the fire.
Burnt; my dreams forgotten
Back to the land of the nothing
Someday, sometime, somehow
My dreams will not be rotten.
They will come alive.
Someday, sometime, somehow.

I would rather dream an eternity
To sleep all moments away,
Keep my eyes closed
To the horrors of today,
Like a nightmare
People living it everyday,
Are we not
Human kind
Mankind
We are the same,
But to look at the world
A tinder box of hatred
Will we just throw it all away
Can good win
When bad is always seen each day,
Where is the silver lining
Where is the happy ending
Cant we all be happy if not for a day
I wish to sleep, to dream my life away,
Because reality is the nightmare
That which keeps my eyes closed, to dream my days away

You might have loved me
If you had known me,
If you had ever known my mind,
If you would have walked
through my Dreams and Memories,
Who knows what Treasures
you might have found.

Yes, you might have loved me
If you had known me.
If you had only
Taken the time.

Blank canvass,
Then colour brings it to life
Shades and tones scratch in to picture
It bleeds creativity,
Moments become minutes
Which consume the hours of the day,
A picture is formed by
Impressions,
Outlines ,
Engraving.
Life upon the page,
One last brush stoke, shading put there
Complete,
But what did my brush strokes create
A hand, as if  reaching out the page
Ominous,
Distressing,
Sinister,
Is what covered this canvas of white
To look upon it,
"Did my eyes deserve me"
Moving forward as if to clench
I move, but to slow
As what was inanimate,
Now paint drips off as it has hold
Upon my hand,
The paint seeps up as I am consumed
By the canvas
Holding on to the frame,
My finger scratch upon the wood
As I scream,
The terror frozen within the paint,
I am but brush stokes
My face painted on canvas
The hand upon my shoulder
I am cold now,
I am for eternity now the paints prisoner,
The hand is my guard
Such vivid brushstrokes
As if she painted fear upon the canvass
A master piece of cloth and paint
Not knowing I am trapped now for eternity
Terror painted within this frame.