Verse
My words
As I write
Show my feelings
My unique verbiage
Only viewed through my eyes
Not through the eyes of readers
Words that come only from my heart
Poems extracted from my feelings
Emitting my emotions from within

Between wakefulness and sleep lies the barrier of our dreams,
Creating its contextual essences in the realities of its scenes,
With psychoanalysis we try interpret what the elements mean,
From the violent and traumatic to the beautiful and serene.

Yet deep in contemplation we can focus the energy of the will,
And give it the intention to heal and replenish or to harm and kill,
So caution I recommend and true wisdom I shall try to instil,
Our thoughts create dynamic motions in an eather frozen still.

My heart sometimes lies to me.
It says things it knows I want to hear,
knowing full well I will believe.

The constructions it builds there
tell me love isn’t a burden.
But here I am, fooled once again,
as grief returns to collect its price.

A book is a place of reprieve
Away from the worries and woes of life
A portal to a world of make-believe
Where one can rest from all its strife

A book is a source of knowledge
A source of creativity and thought
It quenches the thirst of the curious
And its secrets can never be bought

A book is a window to the past
To the future and even the present
It is a source of enlightenment
And with it one can be content