Unpublished Anonymous

I have stories in my heart I want to tell Some of people in paradise and others in hell I know all the characters in my stories well Some perish, while some are saved by the bell The characters are just you and me in print Described perfectly by thousands of words on ink They maybe imagined, made up names and identities But they are just like us, our situations and realities Like God running the world and carrying out his plans I forge words and create stories with twists and turns Where paradise gets lost and hell breaks loose Where no one can escape the blues I am an artist; words are my paint as I sit and sketch The reflection of humanity’s maddening stench Brightly captured line after line on A4 paper canvas Like a conductor I swing my fingers and make the alphabet dance Heartbreaks all over and death in the end In imagination as in reality, its hard to find a friend Every man for himself and every woman abused Even if you are Oprah or the queen, you still get used Words are fun to merge, into sentences to tell tales Compressing into pages, explaining why happiness fails Dreams shattered in a tunnel, like the princess of Wales People spreading viruses in beds and electronic mails Like a chef I mix words as if they are ingredients Cooking up manuscripts that have no recipients I compose the truth in exaggerated prose Enough to steal Shakespeare's glory, from right under his nose My characters may not be close to fame just yet But they have more grit, than Romeo and Juliet More complex than Shakespeare's Macbeth Best laid plans, matters of life and death An unedited anthology of human tragedies An underground bible of life’s vanities With chapters and passages for my eyes only Hopefully to one day inspire and comfort the lonely When that day comes maybe I will be famous But for now, I am unpublished anonymous