For now.I say, I can't trust the words I am telling myself.Once there was a plant, named in a name a plant wouldn't be named in.Her scientific name.That plant used to hate the sun, hate the light, hate water, and hate the land.Nothing wad loved. or adored from this plant.It was a life with a lot of tears, and fears.That plant used to be afraid that it's fardner would know it dosen't love or appreciate the sun, and all.This plant made a change in her self.And didn't sleep for a while.A night came , a sun went . And a flower fell.Autumn had came.This plant had fell.Hard.Flew away to aplace where she was to go to afraid.The sea.
I looked to the shadow in my hands.My hands looked different.More different than It used to be.My hands looked as if they are being drawn.Or they are being erased by the painter.So as my eyes. I can feel a slight difference in them.It's one of two.I EITHER, have lost my mind.Or, my heart had changed it way of seeing things to the point of where I see my eyes, and my hands differently.I longer want the things to be as before.It's OK if I got left down now.It's OK if ibgut pushed nowIt's OK if I got sick now.And it's OK if I never knew what I will do with my life.Now and for good.Now and for good.
My God (oh, let me call Thee mine,Weak, wretched sinner though I be),My trembling soul would fain be Thine;My feeble faith still clings to Thee.Not only for the Past I grieve,The Future fills me with dismay;Unless Thou hasten to relieve,Thy suppliant is a castaway.I cannot say my faith is strong,I dare not hope my love is great;But strength and love to Thee belong;Oh, do not leave me desolate!I know I owe my all to Thee;Oh, TAKE the heart I cannot give!Do Thou my strength--my Saviour be,
A Pit -- but Heaven over it --And Heaven beside, and Heaven abroad,And yet a Pit --With Heaven over it.To stir would be to slip --To look would be to drop --To dream -- to sap the PropThat holds my chances up.Ah! Pit! With Heaven over it!The depth is all my thought --I dare not ask my feet --'Twould start us where we sitSo straight you'd scarce suspectIt was a Pit -- with fathoms under it --Its Circuit just the same.Seed -- summer -- tomb --
What does the hangman think aboutWhen he goes home at night from work?When he sits down with his wife andChildren for a cup of coffee and aPlate of ham and eggs, do they askHim if it was a good day's workAnd everything went well or do theyStay off some topics and talk aboutThe weather, base ball, politicsAnd the comic strips in the papersAnd the movies? Do they look at hisHands when he reaches for the coffeeOr the ham and eggs? If the littleOnes say, Daddy, play horse, here'sA rope — does he answer like a joke:I seen enough rope for today?