LOVEIt is hard to write,about this feeling impossible to fight.The sword by pen beaten in might,when in the darkest hours of night,the strength of love the only light.LoveAdorationInfatuationAll the words I cannot use,my hand stilled by my muse,for if described I shall abuse,this feeling that I cannot lose,if only by the hangman’s noose.FearConfusionIllusionDeep inside my lonely heart,split the seams and fall apart,as another name added to your chart,the pain and invisible, weeping mark,but still content to play my part.
The Childhood UnicornsThe day was cold and grey, misshapen clouds oozing across the sky as stale light filtered down to the ground below. A barely-there breeze caressed my face with the softness of steel wool. I shivered, standing among the grass in the empty field where I once played and miracles seemed to happen every day. That was long passed now, each day blending into the next as the earth turned and I grew older. I longed for the past afternoons spent in dazzling colour as I played with the creatures which were no longer there. The trees were barren, the grass ash; a splintered mirror for the world above.I missed my childhood. I missed the golden sun and warm breezes. I missed the wonder of new discoveries. Mostly though, I missed the unicorns.They had always been there for me, in the places I played and in the adventures I took. I knew now that they weren't real, just projections of an over-active imagination, but they had filled my days with joy and now I could scarcely remember how to smile.I ha