Truthful thoughts from a confused heart.
What must we forge to create this life to be sweet.
What bitter ends must we fight to no longer suffer.
Is there such things as an open life like that of heart.
Or is life just a hole of sorrow sitting with thirsty lips.
Are we but nothing to life but insects among nature.
Could life be more than the pain that peaks its head between the happiness we so seldom find.
Where is this life I search for that barrows no happiness but makes it eternal.
What wars must I rage for to win my own heart.
Am I something of an enigma that will never be solved like that of a book never written.
What shrills of pain I hold with each sleeping night.
Dreaming of tasted rotten apples and crying throats.
What will will be done unto me.
What thoughts will bury themselves to create something of magnificence.
Will I ever be like that of Newton, sophisticated with new ideas that shatter our world, our thoughts, our heart.
Or will I lie in my own obsession and die like that of Frankenstein.
Life is only once and death, well death is just the exhale of it all.
The sent less wonders of when life crashes and shatters like dropped glass.
When nothing can be done to repair,
And even if repair was to be done,
It would never be the same,
It would be crooked and cracked.
Angry and bitter.
You cant capture what is not meant to be twice.
What words must I write to collide with this world to create beauty for those around me.
I am surrounded by what my heart cannot express.
I hold this feeling that will not allow itself to open.
Like a lid stuck to a jar I must be gentle.
For if I pry with haste I may break it and all will be lost.
I feel insane with this unopened expression.
But I wish not lean like that of Pollock or Warhol.
I want to open with purpose,
Open with an answer to where this all leads.
What this all is.
What feelings I have, that my heart holds dear.