Wednesday, February 28, 2007


When I don't know what is wrong, I just pretend that everything is fine. That doesn't fix it. But it makes me less unhappy. I don't know why I am in such a pensive mood. Why I am not thinking before I put down words, like I usually do.

Can I call your name,
when I know you wont hear?
Can I be insane,
without any fear?
I wish you would stay longer,
And I could ask you to love me more.
But how can I ask these things?
They've been claimed before.
Maybe its your eyes,
Or maybe its mine.
But where I want to see truth,
I see treachery and swine.
You sent me solitude,
When I needed peace.
You pushed me over the line,
When I was just at the crease.

From the frying pan

Here is one, written on the 7th of Feb. I cant think of an apt title. And I am too satiated to make that effort now.

I try to understand. I try to reason.
I try to laugh my way through. I try to contain.
I give my love. I give my soul.
And if you ask, I will give you more.
But still you hurt me with words and deeds,
Heedless of my heart that pleads.
But this song was never meant to be sung,
But from where has this hope sprung?
Hope is for those who see the light,
Hope is for those who want to fight.
I am blind as you can see,
And to fight there's no strength in me.
Yet there burns a little fire,
Fuelled by my desire,
I am alive for it burns,
But alas, it burns me alive.

Ayn Rand.

I wish I could write like her. Then maybe science wouldn't be so significant in my life.
I decided that this is where all my poems go. One by one. As I write them. Some may take their time to gestate and arrive, but they will get here when they are meant to. I like the first two. Lets see if more decide to come.