Inspired by passion,
driven by madness,
deluded by a spinning wheel of thought.
Walking into illusions,
cold by sadness,
helpless by all that was not.
The words don't always come like a river
down the running spring of spirit.
But rather when heart is split.
And dreams are but
a treasure untouched,
a desire unheard of,
a whisper without the wind.
Yet in this solace
is that too much,
too vague to uncover,
too forgotten to mend.