Boring it is and lonely it becomes
When I replace myself with empty and end up alone in the end
to contemplate the meaningful intricacies of my thought.
When all I see is grey anyway.
When I face the day just to feel the deep clouds and empowering wind.
Who walks the sidewalks the same as I?
Who can find no equal and still can't cry?
I know I wonder more than you. Am I any better off for it?
I know each and every one of you. Do you know that? Still you don't.
I love some, I mourn some. Nobody's world is the same.
I take heart in that. At the same time I slowly and sweetly
fail and regret. And all I ask is...where is another me?
All I want is you.

The little girl sped through the desert, sand bursting to
the side. She came upon the clean glass door and stopped right there.
She tapped thrice and her feet touched the ground. The door
opened and she gracefully stepped inside. It was a place
of enchantment, of color. With flowers all around her she
ran to the center of the dome, light leaking through
crystal high above to bathe her entirely. Spinning and spinning and
spinning 'round then sinking, sinking to the ground. She lay
among the grass and green just looking up and smiling.
All alone yet so at home, she rolled around on the
ground. A pink butterfly fluttered by and touched her
gently on the neck. She stood up and peered around
and soon spotted what she desired to see. The stream
water was cool and dark. The tiny waterfall sung
its constant song tranquily like leaves falling from an old forest tree. She dipped her fingers in and
sprinkled on the ground and where the water drops landed
small flowers sprouted up around. The little girl lay down
and closed her eyes, to dream away the day and
to wake to the stars, ruby bright, blinking, gleaming all
through the night. The mists floated in and brought the
silence, all the while sleeping. Nearer and nearer to her love
and to her heart...never wanting to be this far apart.

Little Winter's Dream Dance

In a forest full of trees, not a single leaf.
A land of greying earth, and reoccuring mirth.
They appear and they fade / as they please, on the voice and on the breeze.
Small hands clutching sonic snow, under the glance of fallen crow.
And what to their wandering eyes should appear?
But glittering, shimmering, showering fear.
A playfull leap - and an evil creep.
Come the little ones of winter's sleep.
I thought once, I saw them once.
But vanish they did, little angels out of time.
Thet spun round in song and danced their rhyme.
And then gone they were, lost in mine.

I take not breath in icy peace,
Each once in a while I find this place.
A land long ago - blinking to and fro,
Sleep the little ones of winter's grace.