If only I was a poet. I could portray the earth’s entire beauty And have my pen draw nature. But instead of lilies I find ivy That shrouds my potential And instead of the wind’s soft touch, I feel the heat from the fire of my trapped soul
If only my stroke could show me my love And tell her that I miss her gentle touch. Yet my heart seems to take me to quiet pastures Only to lead me to a cliff and bid me adieu For you, my bitter flame, my sanity hangs on the edge Begging you to show me my future, so that my soul can rest today
If only I could create a tower of words Whose tip can pierce the sky And create a tempest among stars My great yet unreachable goal Is it possible that my hidden dreams can transform? So that my unanswered prayers find me once again?
If only I had a golden tongue Whose words would sprout flowers in the air And carry with them the seeds of my soul. But No, the wind does not carry my words out But brings me the chill of despair
I wait for fate to create for my heart An antidote for life’s poisons And cure me of my loneliness Yet in vain does this ink stir My abstractions to concrete, My thoughts to words
And with the pain of unfulfilled expectations My thoughts fool me to dwell on the past To disavow the present and live unhappily And I remain, an abandoned man, with a message to preach But without a voice to tell it