So I set off on a wooden raft

And drifted gently out to sea,

Not a single care or worry,

Such a peaceful place to be.

Blissful calm tranquility

In a world that never rained,

But silence can be deafening

And just drifting... has no aim.

The wooden raft was far from land,

I was lost though not confined,

I took a paddle and headed South

With a content yet puzzled mind.

As the sun began to fade that night

And the sea became moonlit,

Tranquility was abruptly torn apart

By an approaching pirate ship.

Heart crashing and my senses wild,

The dangerous unexpected surprise,

Caused uncertain, arousing anxiety,

My spirit excited, alert, alive.

Quickly I was captured

And taken up on deck,

Yet my fear became an elated high

With a knife held to my neck.

"Why are you not screaming girl?"

Asked a sharp unfriendly tone,

"It's this alluring sense of peril," I said,

"I think I finally feel at home".

Two worlds of such vast extreme

But the collision was no mistake,

What my head suspected, my heart confirmed,

This capture was my escape.

We drank intoxicating endless rum

I heard tales that left me inspired,

It was a treasure chest of stories

Eliciting secrets of love and desire.

Most avoid the pirate ship

For the security of the 'drift',

But exploring is a daring adventure

And curiosity is life's real gift.

Storms and risk filled escapades

Challenge a consistent guarantee,

My heart... it longs for passion,

With the pirates of the sea.

As April rushes to May

I cannot see as the time flies by

My eyes cannot follow the tide

By which the water flows

And the wind where the flowers blow

And my body rapidly grows in size

Speeding

Panicking to catch up to the already

Ahead spring.

Take a leap into May

And it is warm weather that wraps around

Me.

A prom dress squeezing me tightly with

Rhinestones illuminating the night

A cap and gown tossed on my body

And here we go

Toward the rushing season.

I don't know you much anymore,

but I will always be haunted by the way your eyes screamed ' help me '

but you spoke fluently in jokes.

I often wondered when your bones would collapse from the weight of your heavy heart.

Well, I've never been in love but I've seen what it's done to you.

I can't help but notice your smile is weak but maybe it's just me because everyone else thinks your happy.

I wish I could wrap you up in band aids and remind you that alcohol only heals the outside cuts not the ones inside.

I watched you as you threw yourself into girls who looked at your face but never your heart,

girls who wanted to fix you but you didn't understand that you were still broken.

I wonder if you still make jokes so everyone is laughing too much to notice.

I still think about you.

And I still think about running away.

And I still hear your voice every time I come close.

You warned me that no matter how far I run, I can never lose my demons because you've already tried to drown yours.

And I believe you, I was there.

It is said that you have seven minutes

of brain activity left in you after you die.

In these seven minutes, you relive your

life's memories.

You might say, "that's not enough time.",

but in a dream, time is warped.

And in these seven minutes, it's kind of like a dream, isn't it?

Seven minutes for your lifetime.

That leads to the thought,

"What if life right now is those seven minutes?"

That is really weird.

Seven minutes.

You are not afraid of the DARK

You are afraid of WHAT'S IN IT

You are not afraid of HEIGHTS

You are afraid of FALLING

You are not afraid of FAILING

You are afraid of EMBARRASSMENT

Everything seems to end when the Sun

dies,

Everything seems to end when the trees

fade,

Everything seems to end when we run out

of tears,

Nonetheless, it is not like that.

Everything continues, even if you are

gone,

Even if you stay,

These crystal sentiments,

Who is going to take them away?

Neither ending, nor remaining alive are

gone,

They just go on and on, and on, and on,

Does not matter what may happen,

I feel blind, I feel waned, I feel alone.

Penumbras everywhere, and she, the

light, never comes to dissipate the storm.

Surrounded by books, surrounded by

letters, surrounded by everything,

Yet nothing,

What one can do with a sentiment like

this?

The hand interprets it, the pen speaks it,

and the author never expresses it.

Only silence that remains and never goes

away.

DA 2012