A Poem & A Confession

Like a soft lullaby,

You take me away, to a land,

Where I can be myself,

You set me adrift in an ocean of dreams, where majestic creatures soar.


I have found that while,

I may yet be dreaming,

This seems to be, yes I’m sure, quite possibly,



If it is not, I do not care to know,

What reality is nor why others choose to be there.


For I must admit, my dear,

That though I am simple,

Ignorant and foolish,

You are my reality.


I write about love, I sing about love, I talk about love, and yet what love is there in my life? What love exists? My friends all tell me that they love me and I reciprocate their sayings. But feelings? Feelings?! What do I know of them. I’m eighteen. I’m young and foolish. I’m ignorant and on top of the world. And for all my robustness, swaggering around like I know everything, and over inflated ego, I’m still a child. Not a man, nor a young man. Childish, silly, but happy. I’m happy not knowing love. I admit more so than anyone that I’m not ready to experience it. I don’t want to experience it. It will happen, one day I’m sure. Love for someone other than myself. Until that day though, I find that I am content with my wanderings in the woods, my exploration of river beds, and my foolishness.

The End

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