how i know what is strange
before i save it from extinction
give me a peace sign
so i can hang it on my door

can i be at peace
knowing i have a pen to write
and a book to read
closing all shutters which threaten
to annihilate my own feelings

my life is but a glossary
indicating all supple movements of the past
as i face the present
to counter my judgements of the future

winter fog and summer dust
two companions i dance with
now a runaway recluse
but when i find my source
i will disappear

what shape was it?
when i felt i could touch
but i feared it would melt
and flow away from me
ahhh it burned me
just once i wanted to crash into it
and feel the pain of satisfaction
just once.. where is it?

where is my source? just once..