When

you're spent

from heavy days

when tired eyes remain

open but yearning for rest

bless me with your pressing troubles

so I may shoulder those

which are too large

to carry alone

breathe light

awhile.

You are like the rain,

Nourishing everything

You are like the sun,

Lighting up the world

You are like the earth,

Mother to us all

To write in a language not your own

Is a connection

To the otherwise  

Other than your own

Your own is limited

Your love was like falling down.

I fell hard, never once made a sound.

Your heart was like an endless maze.

The beginning of the never ending phase.

Loving you was like a light.

One I grew closer to by day, by night.

Your pain was like my bruised knees.

Something that I couldn't ease.

Your anger became a raging fire.

One that I tried hard to tire.

Your pride was a bitter cold.

One that aged me; made me old.

Your remorse seemed a rarity.

Turned me into a parody.

Your distance was an endless winter.

A darkness, an emptiness, and endless splinter.

Your sorrow was the end of a day.

Black, and white, and in the way.

Your confusion grew to a thousand pins.

Needle in a haystack, the needle never wins.

Your addiction was an endless fight.

Bloody massacre, ruined my life.

Your weakness was like a newborn child.

Uncontrollable, sweet, and wild.

Your fear was like an endless sea.

We tried to swim with endless plea.

Your surrender was a diving fall.

A rope to prove the point of it all.

Your death is just the end of me.

Complete, obsolete, and too dark to see.

But your love.. is like the gift that keeps giving.

I remember it's truth, and gain reason for living.

After all

Of the problems

I've caused,

I'm stuck between

Finding a way out,

And closing myself in

Your very breath

A gale

My shredded sails

With fingernails

And a heart marooned

On a rock

Called Hope

I've called your name

A thousand times

And written your shape

In a thousand lines

All to lie awake in this dream

For another thousand nights

Great Write is purely a matter of opinion, and I know that what peaks my interest will be an absolute bore to others, so.. With that said, here's my two cents.

Great writing to me is something I can relate to, I can feel- something that feels enough like home to speak to me, but enough like the unknown to keep me reading.

For this reason, I enjoy stories of ordinary people thrown into fictional situations. A regular guy at school thrown into a dimension of dragons and knights. A girl working at a café suddenly finding herself in the middle of an intergalactic war.

The fantastical being coped with by the ordinary. I can feel for these characters as the boy tries to learn to wield a sword without a Youtube tutorial or the girl comes to terms with all of the new technology and alien creatures around her.

Or even, supernatural things entirely but dealing with ordinary problems. A goblin who deals with depression. An extra-terrestrial space princess who has insecurities.

Being able to see the characters in books who were like me then thrown into this world of fiction, gives me the sense of anyone having the possibility to find that fantastical journey. Maybe I could find myself in another dimension like that. If I did, what would I do?

Seeing other worldly characters facing the same problems I do makes me feel like I'm not alone in my problems. If a cyborg worries about conforming to society, maybe it's not bad that I do, too.

If there is no semblance of something I can feel for or relate to, I probably won't like the story as much. It won't speak to me, and I won't listen as well.