Caricamento in corso...



If I look into the past,
What can I really see,
A life watered with teardrops,
Or a heart no longer free,
Hopes and dreams need not be cast,
Into some deep dark abyss,
As my cries hold out the memories,
For our long sought after bliss.
I might hold but not possess,
Those things for which I dream,
And my cries might be a whisper,
But at times they have been screams,
I might give a little whimper,
Or there could be moans and groans,
A personal voice to this pain,
That I pretend I do not own.
All my cries are held inside,
And it’s tears that water my heart,
But do these tears turn into a river,
That just rips the heart apart,
Can a person cry a river,
The only evidence is their sobs,
A door that’s hard to open,
Because it doesn’t have a knob.
Sometimes my pain is stowed away,
Though it comes back at another time,
As I seek out some true comfort,
But is that comfort really mine,
The fact of the matter really is,
My cries are only heard if out loud,
Just have to see what’s justified,
What my mind and heart allow.
When caught inside a whirlpool,
Where thoughts and emotions spin,
It’s hard to understand the why’s,
Or where my cries begin,
If my cries should go unnoticed,
Can I find someone that cares,
I already know the answer is yes,
And I know that she can hear.
Of tears we should not be afraid,
Because our emotions do not lie,
And how can anyone notice,
If they can not hear my cries,
Is a conscience my answer,
As more and more days pass by,
But the only thing I really need,
Is for my love to hear these cries.

Altre opere di Lance Nathan Conrad...