Eyes whisper so soft,
Things said so oft,
Pulling back many threads,
In a Gulliver's web,
I fear an invisible corpse,
It twists and it warps,
No eyes ever seeing,
My crystalline being,
Hiding in tight woven fence,
My cave deep and dense,
I'll be saving no Fridays,
Enshroud in my ways,
My memories set,
my stories, every fret,
The fahrenheit rises,
But this library has no suprises,
Fighting my faces,
And running my races,
I run and I ride,
But can't leave my jekyll, my hyde,
Facing haunting times,
My thoughts and my rhymes,
A letter my own,
A 'C' little shown,
I can't build my own house,
For life falls, each heavy douse,
My friends easily tear through the guilt,
And now in their corner it's built,
Its speaking now, my hidden tongue,
My potrait painted, but not yet hung,
All may melt yet to meaningless blur,
But in my head, still all's astir,
Fear my mind and its dark lurkings,
A tree in torment, its words unnerving,
Seeking to be heard anew,
But the pain it takes will be heard by few.
