Problems

When you feel the sunset, when you feel the rain, when you feel the wind, then you will know. When you feel the seething hatred drip off a person and puddle on the ground, then you will know. When you feel the euphoria of a small child's joy, then you will know. Until then, I remain alone in my world. I remain alone in a place where the wind whispers secrets and the wisened trees talk. I remain alone in a realm where thoughts are not expressed but felt, the brain laid bare for firing thoughts. Your concious is nothing but electrical impulses that can be heard and felt with enough concentration. To think you're alone in this world is to ignore the fact that someone in the room can feel what you're thinking. To think you have a tough time is to ignore those long passed, those who are but a shallow memory in the world, those who know the true value of living since they lack it. Whatever your life is now, it won't always be and whatever your past was is what you think you were feeling at that time. Thought is fluid, expanding, contracting, dissapating, coagulating. Here or there, it matters not where it ends up. But by alone I mean that The Secrets are given to me one by one and while I am alone on one level, there's others I'm not. Something creepy, something seen, what remains of the energy, is there and will always be. To the normal person I am a loner and will always be so until the day that my brain is wiped clean of this gift or the whole world suddenly opens their minds. But alas, it is just a dream I have, to be me, to be poet, to be free, to put pen to paper and wish you a dream come true. I imagine it all for it's crazy to think that I am intimate with every molecule of rain, every particle of wind, that seething hatred covers them with layer of slick mucousy slime that drips off their body and leaves a horrible stench in the air. What if we all kept our child's imagaination and grew up to be imaginative adults? Until that day I am alone....