Who is it that beackons to me in the dark

Who is it that beacons to me in the dark?
Who raps my window with a seductive touch
who wins my heart in a midnight battle
is it the moon for it be the only luminescent creature abound
no, not the moon, for it sits motionless
and my evil lurks silently in the shadows.

Who envelops me in a cloak of discontent
who takes my rights unalienable
who is it that hurts me with a gentle touch
is it the crowd that brings me to my knees with guilt
or is it me who purposely submits

Rapture of an adjacent room
a subtle pain which grows with an unforgettable twinge
these things I obsess over and remove from a conscious thought.
How will I escape such insurmountable foes
With a regrettable demeaning of the soul

A darkness of thoughts, and a lack of action
to combat this evil realm
a trance that leaves all actions undone, and all hopes unfulfilled
these are the truths of a troubled soul.
And mine is there to be found

What pains does the future hold
what feelings have I not ventured to
do men continue in this daunting way
if so, where did they begin

with such beauty abound and such feelings tucked away
a promise soon forgotten.
And you with your subtle touch
make sure I am not alone
but how did it come to be this sickening way.

A year here, and four hours of nothing
and soon the word requires so much more.
Thought and acknowledgment which seems so unimportant
but at the same time I feel it with such power
a power that flows from a source unreachable
I fear such powers for they begin out of my realm of consciousness

why do you tempt me with discresions I know I don't understand
a simple solution is destined to the gallows of my tongue
in a way that only those who are confined to silence understand
but to regress to the incapacity's of my make up is to give in to the pain
and that is where the evil begins

A force unrecognizable and one without name
unclassifiable for no means that exist can quantitate such thoughts
intangible in all my troubles to decipher
yet still it burns with a fury that takes hold of me with a cast iron grip
regrettable, yes, but still it burns

Why does it burn and not the opposite, freeze
do these words mean any more to you than me
I think I, as you, feign to realize their importance
I know not where they began, but it was a day destined for history
if history, that is, be more than just a memory

A cold and windy night, I say
to divulge into a world not easily inhabited by my timid soul
a slight breath of reality would easily tip me over
but all that seemed so much further away than anything else
and yet the wind blew

How can I describe such things as the wind and moon and allow you to  know the meaning
but I describe my world to my closest friend and the truth escapes
is my realm so slick that fingertips don't try
or is reality simply a way to say everyone is extremely different
passion hopes for the first but my senses say two
romantics are always the last to see their folly
but the first to make it rule their life