The torture of knowing what is real,
The pain of confusion, learning to deal.
The questions are bringing it to an appeal.
When I say I am done,
You still won't belive,
How many times must this repeat?
Anger, frustration, wanting to move on,
Still being held back by a feeling that's gone.
Why won't you let me,
fly like a dove?
To discover the meaning, 
of true love?
I am waiting for the freedom that exists,
in the wintery frost of the San Fransisco mist.
There you will find me,
free as a bird,
Knowing what to say, 
every word.










                                  Dana  05