Shall I tell thee of the soft, quiet rain?
That comes in the mist covering the land...

A sunflower with yellow petals to spread.
It reminds me of the opposite of dead...

This misery is so routine
It is so ordinary...

The silvery moon
so silent and bright...

The dream, scary
The memory, weary...

I can still hear them,
I can still feel their ice cold touch...

Thoughts scramble throughout my head
Flow out into my pen...

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty"
--John Keats "Ode to a Nightingale&quot...

When will I see the light?
get to feel the great delight...

We write these poems,
To show our feelings...

Some say that my time will come
But I am here to prove them wrong...