Words Needing Music

Lamenting on golden scenes of then Seeming a carefree adolescence Still querying about the when Yet time has molded it's senescence That foul feeling of a heavy chest A physically manifested elegy of past Seething immovable under my vest Pointless dreams that just won't last Pressed on the glass of a gathering in a showcase Cold and poor with hands holding doves The future, memories, it will erase For your spirit, mine, forever loves (?)

For an emotion to find it's place in your soul, it must be processed. It must be allowed to be felt. Mind is not a protagonist in this play. Though never ceasing it's constant fluttering of thoughts, it can't explore and sooth whatever must be felt. You can't think your feelings away. I'll think that whatever troubles find my door, I'll sit down, analyze, rationalize, execute them. But it is not so.  They must be felt. Pain. Longing. Missing. Sadness. Anguish. Despair. Fear. Hatred. Anger. They will not kill you. Unless you don't allow them to. Then you'll see that they won't. Absent, the above sequence never taught, I turned to thought. Deep conversations with myself. With others. Studying books upon books on how we work. Thinking there must be a golden logical process I never stumbled upon. A godly paradigm. A modus perfectus.  But the mind has no qualms with the heart. Their work asunder. Addictions seem like a solution then. This of course, retro

It's unfair. It's unfair you are are so beautiful. My insecurity abates with the supposed ugliness of your soul. But your soul is even more beautiful. It's unfair.

I left you to find myself I found him He was alone You weren't there