There is always a song being played.
Music is food for the soul...
Writing poetry is a response to sensitivity.
Feelings related to emotions with intensity...
There is dust all over my thoughts!
Cobwebs too...
Under my eyes-heavy bags!
Still tired from the days of slumber before...
We gild our days with restless gold,
Chasing coins that slip through time...
Scientific or philosophic; whatever mad you think...
I will not say I have come to make any human...
Oh God…
hear me out of the abundance of my sin...
Decadent delicacy
Of a soul undermined...
This world is impersonal.
Nowhere to go...
I had a dream of you again
You held my hand through places...
"If you ever feel like a failure, just...
It is a bright day, but the faces are sullen.
The wind changes direction every so often...