Belonging

The lead crept up like life,
It took my time to drop the knife
A hypocrite maybe, You wont understand
That nothing ever goes as its planned
The smoke and rain, up on my shelf
How can I love others, If not myself?
White as the page and dark as the clouds
If you listen close, youll still hear the sounds
Of the lightening and the music
The nightingales’ broomstick
The morning I woke up afterwards
I took it as I heard it
Im writing now as I wrote then
Same feelings as way back when
But even through the tension,
I felt belonging