FLOWERS ALL AROUND YOU

Flowers, flowers, flowers all around you.
Will you pick mine?
Will you have mine?
As if to pilfer,
Will you prefer to cherish mine close to your heart?
And guard it wholly from the unforgivably scorching sun.

Nerves on edge, I wait,
For the veracity of the reality of tales untold,
For that which keeps my villein apart,
soul's untapped,
mind unsearched,
heart's apart,
I hold no ground and shudder at my wilting flower.
Flowers, flowers, flowers all around you.
Will you pick mine?

So now in a fragile vase, it holds,
what may seem desirable, I ponder
for beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder
This vase, a desert of sweet words,
Can be made real only when
whisked away to offbeat worlds.
This vase, this heart, forgets its essence;
Its joyous feel, its soothing comfort,
Will you remind me of it?

Take me away far from what I fear!
Far from what I shudder!
Far from that dark horror!
Where I may be that one flower in your vase,
to keep in your delicate glass case,
Such dreams, such fantasies are my closest companion
That counts them in picture frame one by one,
only to be remembered easy,
As that fragile flower in full blossom in your chassis.

But...
Anyway,
Anywhere,
Anyhow,
I awake to the reality;
Flowers all around you.


Dove. :)

Cold Fired Walls

There is fire in these walls,
Yet this room is cold.
This fire illuminates the darkness it withholds.
It beats all odds and fights the fathoming power,
It beats the sense that the mind can hold.
These walls may speak,
These walls may seek,
to unearth the incredible,
undignified,
somewhat explicit scenes.
These walls may haul,
These walls may squall,
to retrieve the burry nature,
horrid existence,
mysterious demeanor,
of the secrets it holds.
These walls burn within,
and make no sound,
These walls shield,
and keep that which quenches its depths.
There is fire in The Walls,
And only I can see it.
But cannot feel it.
I do not understand it.
Should I put it out?
Should I wash it out?
Or should I simply play the part of an ignorant bleeding stout?
Should I doubt?
Should I pout?
Or should I diligently offer an abundance of drought?
Drought of water that purifies, 
Drought of love that simplifies,
Drought of food that edifies the soul that this room upholds.
The room that these walls hold are not warm,
They are not welcoming...
Are not home.
Yet there is an overwhelming comfort.
The burning walls scare me.
They appall me,
yet I feel safe.
These walls may speak,
These walls may seek,
These walls may haul,
These walls may squall,
There is fire in these walls,
And only I can see it.
But cannot feel it.
I do not understand it...
So I will let it burn until that day they please to speak to me,
And tell me what they daily behold.

Spirit Awaken

I put on the armour,
to fight,
I am weak,
I have no power,
It's not a natural fight.

It's all unnatural.
It's supernatural.
It's not a natural fight.

I cannot move without Your lead,
I am helpless on my own.
My spirit is broken into pieces.
I feel alone and scared,
and the thoughts are bounding.
So I have to die to the world,
for my spirit to awaken.
I have to find a source,
and the source is divine.
I cannot do it on my own.
I am powerless;
spirit die,
then awaken.
I have to find a new me,
because inside,
it's a riveting urge,
to awaken.
It's a fight,
to be broken.
I have to die...
to live.