You shouldn't sell yourself so short, Scouser..you make perfect sense.

I use 'poetry' to examine myself and my world, whereas you use lyrics - same thing, except mine might be a dialogue over the top of a tune, and yours would be the essence of a tune.

I have often thought about writing a book, but I wouldn't know where to start.
You see, I'm the sort of person that adds to a discussion - I hear what others say, think about it, then offer an opinion based on my experiences and understandings.

Plus, I am learning all the time...my perceptions change, my ideals reform, and new-found knowledge opens more avenues.

A wise man doesn't know it all - answers ask more questions.

A sample of darkness...

What Happened To My Dreams?


When I was a child, I used to dream that I could fly.
I would run as fast as I could, jump forward with my arms outstretched, and soar upwards into the sky. The wind would rush into my face, as I flew alongside migrating swans; in awe of their beauty and humbled by their presence. Sometimes I would dance amongst the chimneys, ducking and swooping like a mad thing, revelling in my exhilaration. Mostly I would chase the sun, flitting through clouds leaving the oncoming darkness far behind.

I am older now, and can no longer fly.
My feet are made of lead, each step harder to take than the last. My body weighted down with sadness and pain, as I trudge wearily along the torturous corridor of life. I look to the menacing dark skies above, searching in vain for the blue skies of my youth.
Where are my wings?
How can I escape this nightmare world?

When I was a child, I used to dream that I was a hero.
I would don my special outfit, and march purposefully into the jaws of danger. Nothing could stop me in my quest to defend the oppressed and weak. I would use my powers against the evil ones, and stand resolute before the monsters that sought to harm me. The people would revere me, chanting my name from the highest peaks; "Our hero!" they would cry. No one could hurt me now - I was invincible.

I am older now, and have lost the will to fight.
My powers have faded to nothing, and weakness overwhelms me. The monsters chase me, and the evil ones laugh mockingly at me. I flee their haunting sounds and threats of harm, stumbling forwards blinded by tears of fear. I look for the source of strength, searching in vain for my fighting spirit.
Where is my hero?
Who can save me from this nightmare world?

When I was a child, I used to dream that I was a healer of spirit.
I would glide amongst the sad and forlorn, and raise their spirits with a touch, a word, or an understanding nod. The troubles of the world would disappear, as I spread my words of hope and promise. The people would know me as a friend.

I am older now, and my spirit has died.
The promises I thought were true, are but more lies that reveal the true nature of life. My world is one of trouble and sadness, and words can no longer save me. I look for the answers to my questions, searching in vain for understanding.
Where is my spiritual light?
Who can soothe my nightmare wounds?

When I was a child, I used to dream of being older.
I am older now, and search in vain for my childish dreams.