Sometimes I feel like writing; I don't claim that what I write is good,
but I like reading what I have written.
may-17
would any shattered orb of light whispered to in quiet night brought to me, my loving self a broken heart for me to help always this should come to be, that broken heart should pass to me? can it be that sadness thus wrought unique the two of us? or was it written long ago with words that have since ceased to grow? known by One the day should be when I'm with you and you're with me? two halves of a stone he cast decades gone, one at last? either case, my path is clear this is a test, the end is near accident or meant for you forever now I must be true