Monsters

Don’t be afraid of the dark, child
It does not harbour monsters.
There are no spirits lurking in the shadows,
No ghosts beneath your bed.
You will find no monsters there;
The monsters roam in the daylight.
They laugh with you, they sing with you,
They even say they love you.
They look nothing like the monsters you heard about,
They are so gentle and sweet.
You believe their sincere smiles
You befriend those monsters, child.
But you don’t see it coming,
You are taken by surprise
The knife comes leisurely out and finds your heart.
Darling, sleep well for your bed is safe,
No demon will grab your foot from below.
Oh, but beware the people you meet,
They’ll tell you they wish well
And smilingly push you down the cliff.
Beware them, O child,
Beware the monsters who walk beside you.

Believe

Fight, my dear;
For you have fire inside you,
The fire that once burned in a star.

Heads up, my dear;
For you have strenght inside you,
The strength of the mountain standing tall.

Fly, my dear;
For you have dreams inside you
Your dreams – the wind beneath your wings.

Laugh, my dear;
For you have mirth inside you,
The mirth of a river skipping towards the sea.

Dance, my dear;
For you have rhythm inside you
The rhythm of the rain falling on the ground.

Believe, my dear;
For you have light inside you
The light of the stars that burned up to become you.

Ocean

It’s hilarious, I think

The way you claim to know me

I am an ocean fathoms deep,

You only dipped your toes in my water.

You have watched my surfacefrom the shore,

And once in a while, a gust of wind,

Might have brought my droplets to you.

You know me from my surfaces,

You know not the roaring depths.

In the deep waters of my soul will you find me,

You’ll discover me then, my dear

Drop by drop, as you plunge deeper

But would you have the strength?

The strength to hold your breath that long?

My waters are not hostile,

You’re welcome to witness the calm and the storm.

But do you dare, dear?

Do you dare to dive?

Library

My soul is a library that screams out me.
Within its caring, loving shelves,
It holds the story that is me.
There are books old and yellowing;
There are books unwritten, waiting to be opened;
There are books I read over for old time’s sake.
These hold stories unspoken,
The things they make me.
Would you read through me
Or would you leave the pages half read?
Oh, but hold these books with tender hands,
For they hold treasures within;
These books hold memories,
They hold people in them.
Some people are simply sentences,
Others own complete books.
They all make me, shape me;
Their inky marks adore my soul.
Would you roam into the darkest corners of my library?
Would you blow the dust off and read?
I sure am writing you down, my friend,
But my dear, would you write down me?