Let me tell you of a day old dream. Stitched at the seams.
Fine lines, Undefined
By the patches of a bright colored quilt.
I sing the song of pain. . .My body is mentally drained.
Guided into the thickening of the forest.
In the distance I hear a chorus. . .
Singing my sad songs. . .Where do I belong?
Am I seen; yet not heard.
Are my words like ridicule. . .Simply an annoying verse.
That I just rehearse. . . to be ignored.
My triumphant plea. . .For sensibility. . .
I'm a stranger in the late night.
Seeking to do right. . .For wrong is not in my vocabulary,
But on the contrary. . .Can you see what I see?
To feel and know it's real.
To cry and know why.
To comprehend and understand.
To love and never to hate
To dream, dreams into reality as if it was fate.
Let me let you into my World.
Shaneak ****rell
Copyright ©2001 Shaneak ****rell
Fine lines, Undefined
By the patches of a bright colored quilt.
I sing the song of pain. . .My body is mentally drained.
Guided into the thickening of the forest.
In the distance I hear a chorus. . .
Singing my sad songs. . .Where do I belong?
Am I seen; yet not heard.
Are my words like ridicule. . .Simply an annoying verse.
That I just rehearse. . . to be ignored.
My triumphant plea. . .For sensibility. . .
I'm a stranger in the late night.
Seeking to do right. . .For wrong is not in my vocabulary,
But on the contrary. . .Can you see what I see?
To feel and know it's real.
To cry and know why.
To comprehend and understand.
To love and never to hate
To dream, dreams into reality as if it was fate.
Let me let you into my World.
Shaneak ****rell
Copyright ©2001 Shaneak ****rell
But I'll be glad to tell you of mine...Let you see what I see at the different angles of this poetically correct world. 
Thanks for the compliment.
