There’s a fire completely Around me, But it doesn’t Burn my body. It’s not that kind Of fire. Its heat merely Melts my good spirit. It melts inside And drips Out a hole in My philosophy, Leaving me Deprived Of life. The fire is love Frustration, The love strife For confrontation. I prepare my speech. I search my soul. (That’s what dreams Are made of.) But my philosophy Doesn’t teach Me to reach My goal. I want to make Her mine, But bravery Is above My philosphy And me. The meek Will always take To dreams. My heart Is a world apart From my mind, And my dreams Are inbetween. My heart says Be smart To my mind, And reaches Only the dreams Between. My mind says Brave be To my heart, And reaches Only the dreams Between. Cursed be The dreams Which impede Communication; Cursed be The dreams Which cannot lead To action. My philosphy Had valued dreams. Perhaps I couldn’t see What they had done to me. Dreams of action Are only self-deceptions. Dreams have no connection To make their ideas be. Why is it said the meek Will inherit The world? Why? When I Don’t even have enough spirit To ask the girl above Me To love me. Let alone marry.