To read a poem
Is to enter the writer's psyche...
Pondering amidst a colossal crowd,
wondering within a jostle sound...
Amazed at the depth of his understanding
His insight into a weakened heart...
If life would have been all about pleasure
Happiness would lost all its meaning...
Not all of me will die
When death...
You inserted me with hope
after your fireworks of love...
Yesterday's Shadows
O' heart that spirals endlessly...
My fingers trace your golden glow
Though years have worn you through...
Submerged in silence
braking molds of life...
You think you know what I'm about
Who I am...
Perched
on the precipice...
.....Bliss
....native...