What is this feeling?
It is new to me.
Why can't I understand?
It confuses me.
It's a myriad of emotion
Tossed about in the sea
It's a valuable treasure
Found in a trash heap
It's a pain that's not pain
It's a fear that's not fear
It's a longing I thought
I never would feel
Who is this boy?
Not quite a man.
And why does he make me
Feel like this about him?
What is this feeling
That has suddenly come
To the door of my heart
My soul and my mind
What does it mean
That when he talks to me
I am able to feel
Like never before
Like a delicate flower
That has lived through the storm
Like an old china doll
That hardly seems worn
He gives me new hope
With each word he writes
The darkness recedes
And he brings in the light
When in that old tale
The egg fell from the wall
I plummeted with it
But he caught me mid-fall.
I don't think he knows
What he does for me
And I'm not too sure
What he does to me
That serpentine voice
Which whispers to me
Is all but forgotten
When he talks with me
He frees me in a way
That only my God
And my passion
Ever really could
How I long to know
Who he really is
How I wish he could
Truly know me
He reminds me of things
That remind me of home
Of a safe place to retreat
A harbor in the storm
The fragrance of cedar
The sound of wind chimes
A fresh breeze through my hair
A reassuring embrace
What is this feeling?
It is new to me.
Why can't I understand?
It confuses me.
I've been driving myself insane with this feeling all day. I don't understand it. I am afraid to. How can someone I've only spoken to on-line for a few short months have such a drastic impact on me? How can he manage to do what only God and my writing has been able to do before? How is it that...that I can miss someone so much when I haven't really had time to notice the lack of their presence, just because I know they won't be there? I don't know...anyway, I figured to throw together this little poem of my confusion for the contest...but I'm not sure if it's even worthy of entrance. I'm a horrible poet, and today, I'm just not quite strong enough to make the words flow like they usually do.
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