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9/06/08-5:53:40a.m.
               I came across some old letters tonight and read my old painted word;
             I knew better to even take in one line-Simply for my mind would race 
                                       and everything would be blurred.
             The simple letter that make words,words which gave thought to a sentence
                           A sentence that would give birth to a paragraph.
                 The phrase that which couldn't stop itself would become a thought
                                       A simple letter.A painted word.
    An insignificant mark that would breath life into pages of insight,maybe hindsight,
         Either or: you reveal yourself to everyone including yourself.Those pages I read ignited that spark,That small amber,which will light the way to bring me out of the dark   
Not saying the darkness has in gulfed me,though the light is always great to see.Its a strange feeling reading emotions that over time have changed.Thoughts and reactions
                                                    '' that for now''  
                                                    are rearranged
                           For how long or why is something I may never know

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