What if I don't know want from need,
what if I can't see from desire and destiny?
For there runs a thin line as the heart does bleed,
to see the difference, to know if it's just a brevity.
I've told myself that there lies a sheaf of papers waiting for me to write,
to talk to it's lines and blanks, to create a new life,
yet, when I lift up the weightless flow of words to indite
I see all the articulate gushing in your way, in a rife.
What if I tell you I'm just accrued inside out,
with so much living, so much to show
all the sorrows of a hidden heart, only scared of the following flout,
a person who works from inside, driven by an urge to know.
For, every time I look at the midnight stars gleaming a little blue,
like my face, asking me to go ahead with what might be mine,
I stand still with the blowing winds, for I've heard dreams come true,
But what do I do, if there is someone else, whose heart too, in the same direction as mine, does incline?!?