A SHROUDED SECRET
If only I was a poet.
I could portray the earth's entire beauty
And have my pen draw nature.
But instead of lilies I find ivy
That shrouds my potential
And instead of the wind's soft touch,
I feel the heat from the fire of my trapped soul
If only my stroke could show me my love
And tell her that I miss her gentle touch.
Yet my heart seems to take me to quiet pastures
Only to lead me to a cliff and bid me adieu
For you, my bitter flame, my sanity hangs on the edge
Begging you to show me my future, so that my soul can rest today
If only I could create a tower of words
Whose tip can pierce the sky
And create a tempest among stars
My great yet unreachable goal
Is it possible that my hidden dreams can transform?
So that my unanswered prayers find me once again?
If only I had a golden tongue
Whose words would sprout flowers in the air
And carry with them the seeds of my soul.
But No, the wind does not carry my words out
But brings me the chill of despair
I wait for fate to create for my heart
An antidote for life's poisons
And cure me of my loneliness
Yet in vain does this ink stir
My abstractions to concrete,
My thoughts to words
And with the pain of unfulfilled expectations
My thoughts fool me to dwell on the past
To disavow the present and live unhappily
And I remain, an abandoned man, with a message to preach
But without a voice to tell it