Seems it is not enough, to find inspiration within. When you can do nothing with it, perhaps best to keep it hidden. For once it has begun to flow, much like a rising tide. Never will there be hope for you, to draw it back inside. Grand days, when dreams fly, become nights--and tears you've cried. As from those who refuse to understand, you're forced to run and hide. Find your strength noble dreamer, when your hope seems to end. For like the Phoenix you must fly, so you must rise again. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Poem © Lisa Hartsock 2000 =^_^= [lh-chan@mechapilot.com] Do not redestribute without permission.