Finally Inspired!

Away, I am.

Distant, homeless

and away.

Yes, that’s me.

Tears sprang forward,

hot burning tears.

They made me feel better,

by making me feel worse.

I was then a master,

of hiding them,

of making no one notice them,

or even smell them,

but never a master of them,

neither of anything else.

But then,

I brushed them away,

to only double them.

But never did I utter a sniff,

nor a sigh.

The only sound that could be heard,

was the flowing river and the falling rain,

of tears coming from my eyes..

Hold my hand,

harden your grip.

Don’t be gentle,

squeeze my fingers.

I’m not asking much,

just hold my hand.

We will be apart,

for who knows how long.

But we will meet again,

for you to hold my hand.

You know that’s all I need.

You know how much it means.

Just reach out,

and hold me hand.

Writing some lyrics, the singer felt,

all the trouble she had, away, it melts.

To let it all out, honestly,

it was so hard.

Even more so,

not to -all at once-,

reveal all of her cards.

Doing so in a hurry,

for one fear,

one haunting fear,

for it all to, somehow,

be difficult to bear.

Almost finished,

feeling the urge to,

destroy the words,

kill the thoughts,

and murder the song.

Yet she fought the urge,

for a stronger urge surfaced,

to reveal everything, -on this earth-,

she faced.

Not without difficulty,

not without being treated falsely,

or even understood so.

Feeling so attached, from head to toe,

to her lyrics,

She kept them hidden,

so no one would know,

they were ever written.

Everything has a purpose,

or so we’ve been told..

Waves have one purpose,

they reach the shore,

and fade away,

because their purpose has been

fulfilled.

Even footprints do.

They indicate that you have been there,

whether on a desert or a beach.

The sand embraces your mark,

until the wind or water erases it.

Yet both are satisfied,

waves and those footprints,

because their mission has been accomplished.

But what is my purpose?

I need one,

to achieve or just for the sake of trying.

To know whether I’m capable or not.

To feel true joy or disappointment.

I dream of what could be

and what might lie ahead in my way.

My dreams are different,

like everyone else’s.

A dream of mine,

is like a perfect song.

No part of it can go wrong,

and with each line, I sing along.

Another dream of mine,

is still young.

It’s like an un-read novel,

with each new page,

I discover many new things,

and with each new page I read,

a smile’s drawn on my face.

With each chapter,

it becomes more intricate,

yet more simple.

But I still haven’t reached the part

where the main characters meet.

And another dream is as neat,

like a shoe that perfectly fits my feet,

with its perfect heels.

Like a perfect word,

that goes straight to the soul

and heals.

So my dreams are perfect

with their flaws

and their effect on me

and their differences.

Like leaves,

that will some day leave their trees,

they’re all leaves but:

Some are covered with sand,

some are yellow out of season,

some are still on their trees,

and one inspired this mind.

And this mind realized that it doesn’t mind

mentioning the reason behind this poem.

My dreams seem vague,

and the vision is still blur,

because of the rain,

that fell and made me bloom with ideas.

I’m sure the clouds will

fade someday.

It’s already getting clearer with

each new day.

I’m willing to trust

my teenager thoughts.

I’m willing to believe

in whatever’s true.

I’m willing to leave my pencil

and give out my words,

because they’re not mine.

They’re for everyone,

but the thoughts they express are mine.

I’m willing to forget.

I’m willing to hold my position.

I’m willing to write whatever I feel.

I’m willing to do that,

If God’s willing to allow me

to do all that.

However,

I’m unwilling to erase my scraps

I’m unwilling to follow any maps.

I’m unwilling to let go.

I’m unwilling to change a bit

that won’t help.

I’m unwilling to lose hope.

I’m not willing to do that.

No, I won’t do any of that.

I use easy words

I use the same words

for the hope of finding someone

who fully understands them,

but that’s not the real reason.

Although I’m not sure why

but maybe it’s because

using unfamiliar words

makes me pretending,

and that’s a thing I hate doing,

because it offends me

every line I write.

That’s why these words

help you relate

even it it was too late

to open your heart’s gates

and communicate.

I use easy words

and play on one chord

and stay most of my life

off the road,

to send messages,

to clear some minds.

If I succeed or not,

it doesn’t matter.

Because it’s more important to write

and fight without a cause

or a prize.

Getting the idea through

is in itself success.

That’s why there’s no need

to fake compassion

or to make up false passions.

The faults I find in myself,

others think them to be

the best in me.

The good things I like in myself,

others look at them as flaws.

I’m full of contradictions,

that’s nothing new,

it has been proven long ago,

to people around me.

I have to do the same

to myself,

I’ve got to prove myself to myself,

or has it been already done?

Some distance exists between me and myself,

I no longer know what happens inside!

Most of my wants

are looked down upon by people.

When shall a time come

when I’ll trust myself,

trust my dreams

and be proud of everything

I want and love?

I haven’t been in a place

where a soul’s always tested,

my soul is truly rested.

It has known insignificant risks.

It has not found the answers

for the questions it asks.

But those questions aren’t new

neither are they few.

The incomplete unfulfilled dreams

are a lot too.

Maybe that’s why a distance exists,

because of all of the pretenses I show.