Late night ramblings.

A poem comes from the heart.
They say,
One's feelings, and Desires,
And soul.
Mixed into one.
The abstract,
And reality.
I'm looking for my soul.
I lost it.
In a dark place.
A poem comes from the soul.
They say,
But how can that be?
That I am writing one?
I wonder,
If I really lost my soul.
Or if I'm only rebuilding,
My broken heart.
I was so sure.
The light before,
The humanity and kindness,
The love,
I lost those.
Or maybe they are hiding.
I wonder.
Why would kindness hide?
In the wake of cruelty?
Where would humanity be kept?
Behind the waterfalls, and.
Over mountains,
Of doubt,
And destruction.
Within the mind.
Like an illness.
I be plagued with torments of the past.
I was so sure,
That I lost my love,
And my tears now tell me otherwise,
Maybe I'm just twisted.
Ahh these late night ramblings.
How amusing they are.
I wonder,
If I could even be called human now?
After loosing humanity?
After floods of doubt?
Destroyed my confidence?
I am a shell now,
Of the smile I once was.
Mixed emotions.
Running wild.
I'm so different it hurts.
A poem speaks from the heart.
They say.
A poem is sprung from the tear!
I say.
Or insomnia.
If you really want to hurt me,
You'll have to get in line.
Yes. A poem speaks from many things.
I think it's just how you write them.
That counts.