Frustration, inside;
There’s no one who sees.
Desperation, inside,
The frantic disease.

Inside, all inside;
Appearing unstirred.
Untroubled, outside;
The tempest unheard.

Play me then a merry tune,
Play me from my woes;
Banish mind,
My thoughts compose,
And play my afternoon.

Hide me now, and keep me blind!
Hide me from the truth:
Darkness comes,
Devours my youth;
Oh, hide me here, enshrined.

Still moon moves and sun succumbs,
Melodies unwind;
Dusk too soon,
I’m left behind,
Alone to wait the day.

Do you hear the longing in my words?
Is that why you seem so deterred
When I’ve barely had time to speak?

What is it you see?
What is it you hear?
Won’t you please tell me?
Be sincere, no, severe!

I’ll change, and I’ll hide
That which pushes away;
I’ll keep it inside,
And no longer betray

My desire, the lust
For a soul understanding;
For a deep, certain trust,
For that love undemanding.

But it’s still just pretend,
For my longing, that ache,
Breaks through and offends,
Reveals my composure as fake.

And then they see the desperation in my eyes,
And they wave good-bye without waiting to know

Or hear the wistful words that die
On the lips of an admiring freak.

Breaking down the wall
That just won’t go away;
Chip here and there, but though I try,
The wall seems set to stay.

It hides my mind, conceals my soul,
And yet how I long to show
The world who I really am;
Bask in recognition’s glow.

Let in the light,
Let people see,
Let someone know me true;
The wall blocks out,
The wall obscures,
Lets only figments through.

And yet here I am, behind the screen,
Wait for someone to see in,
Past the wall my self’s put up to keep
My heart’s hope from growing thin.

A paradox, it seems, but while
There’s no one able to know
My mind complete, still there’s a chance
To be found when out I go.

And thus the wall protects, and guards my soul,
Somehow keeps alive the flame,
For though there may be failure and defeat,
There’s always the wall to blame.

The soul gives in,
The mind gives up,
The heart begins to slow.

But Death is not
The culprit, no,
It’s hope that’s burned away

And with its loss
The self endures
The same kind of decay.

The light will fade,
The warmth will cease;
One difference, though, it’s true,

That with the glint
Of future love
The flame might burn anew.

Perhaps the spark
Is always there,
Still ready to ignite

The soul with fire
Of hope once more,
To burn away the night.