It does not move on my accord.
It is not the same, as I want it to be.
It is not going on the route,
The one I want it to take.
It is not as colorful,
Like the many colors swimming around thoughts.
It is not light as a feather,
It is a mountain too heavy.
Even so, I am fond of life.
Because I live in hope,
That it is my life; I am Alive.
I will turn it, into a light colorful feather,
Will fly it on my favorite path,
Taking it to wherever I would want to.
I adore it.