Poem: Empty

The sun is coming up and I am going down.

I feel so full, but when I look at my glass it is empty.

I never see it full, there is nothing out there for me.

The room is filled with things that I used to want.

It has the people that I have given so much.

When I look, I see the people that I have dream about.

The one thing I do not see is me.

I am not there.

I cannot give them the love and attention the room deserves.

My cup cannot hold anymore.

The fumes that used to fill me up are done.

I have no more to give.

There is nothing left for me to say.

There is nothing left for me to do.

I tried to shout I love you, but that is a waste.

I wish I could do more.

I have given them my all and given my self-none.

I will never be full.

I am just empty.

Poem: The Mountain

Change is coming and the ride to the mountain is almost here.

The mountains are hiding the shadows that holds hope.

Fearing that love is washing away the things that holds power.

Love is no longer a battlefield.

It is a hill that I no longer want to climb.

The journey that I am taking is turning into a dream full of nightmares.

I thought I knew what I was doing.

Turns out I am still just this hopeless foul.

I keep trying to climb, but the mountain is getting steeper and steeper.

Should I turn around and go back to the things that I know?

This climb is not worth my mind.

The mountain is starting to become clear, but the picture no longer has me.

It no longer has my hopes and my dream.

The thing that holds my hand.

I think that it does not want me.

I am starting to think I no longer want it.

Poem: Back and Forward

Moving forward means not looking back.

Not looking for the thing that made your weep.

With joy, but with the sorrow that could cure a thousand cries.

This is the life that no longer waits.

You hunger for that.

It is the food that feeds your soul.

You also hunger for the road ahead.

It holds the things that you do not know.

The things that make you feel desired.

This is your calling, but the land in the back, is still holding your hand.

It is slowly slipping away, but you keep reaching out to grab it.

How long will you hold the grip before it just slips away.

Looking back, you can no longer do.

Looking forward is calling you.

Poem: Your Dreams

I see the words, but the paper is blank.

The story that is in my head cannot leave my body.

The thing that I love is one that I cannot have.

Stories are being told, but the pen cannot fit in my hand.

The thing that makes me move is also the thing that keep me still.

I do not know where to start, but I do know how it ends.

To tell is to sing without words.

It is to walk without moving.

I cannot tell you what is happening.

I just know a dream is blossoming, but the nightmare is still around.