Dezerth Lerexia

Trapped in the stoop, beggin' for a bowl of soup.
Colder than a dog, lost in the fog.
Thought I had it all, guess I was wrong.
Owls on the tree's, wolves on their knees.
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When things go wrong, as they sometimes will, when the road your trudging seems all appeal, when the funds are low and the depths are high, and you want to smile, but you have to sigh, when care is pressing you down a bit/ rest if you must, but dont you quit.

Life is queer with it's twists and turns, as everyone of us sometimes learns, and many a person turns about, when they might have one had they stuck it out. Dont give up though the pace seems slow/ you may suceed with another blow.
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Let us begin from the very beginning. I remember that time when you ran up to me in your time of need.

A stranger you were, in your darkest hour you seeked. So tragic and reckless you acted. You shared your story with me;
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I see you from uptop,
running you dont stop,
should I or should I not?
Come close, I sure hope.
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When I look at you,
butterflys fly high.
When I hold your hand,
I can feel our strong bond.
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She's souless, she's empty,
she cant think for herself.
She's lost, she's confused,
she was left alone.
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What the hell is it?
Love is an element,
a source of power,
a source of knowledge.
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I hate your living guts!
That mug, that fake ugly mug of yours.
That smell, that stentch, that icky little beard of yours.
That goop, that ick, those sticky little hands of yours.
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The sad man on a chair alone,
if only he'd answer the phone!

It's like he dosen't want company,
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I walked through this night, looking for you.
That sweet smile, with blood thirsty eyes,
That cute style, I cannot hide,
With no defile, my wish tonight.
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Looking in the mirror in the middle of the night, I saw it all.
I saw beyond and past it all a mirror has to offer.
I saw my past, i saw all the horrors pass by fast.
I saw the memmories, that match the currencys.
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Let me be your host,
I hope you know i'm a ghost,
let me help you at most.
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If I picked a flower and that flower had eight petals,
then i'd have eight petals to declare you special.

The first is for the first time that we always had a first.
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To all the poets who write from the heart, who write from insperation, who write because of talent, who write because of though or emotion, who write because the write.

Have you ever asked yourself why you write the things you write? Perhaps where or what gives you the idea to write? ... I dont.
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