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.