Onward and forward, into confession br Looking to answers, for my quiet obsession br Night always ends with one more page written br Without teeth or marks, how was I bitten br Mine is not to question, nor to ask why br Only to understand, while lifted so high br The mind may go places, some will never know br Places of secret, for the special to go br To journey and travel deep into thought br Re-living feelings the memory brought br Memories of time spent too quick and fast br Actions and energies of a yesterday now past br Moments empty and nothing to some br For them the touch of magic is forever numb br They do not see what is really there br Poor, foolish souls, who show no carebr br Deborah Cromerbr br