Like images held in an hourglass,
each night I sleep in a capsule of time...

They think poetry should scream
like a lost soul begging for mercy...

I lost it. My gift. It came to be like a pen,
filled with ink, ready to imprint...

Before you sleep or close your eyes,
let's come outside to watch the fireflies...

Through my hair glides fire and rain:
the misery my of days, my cries for help...

Me wonders how the years
have been flying with no wings...

You said her skin was the ocean
you would gladly swim in...

It's been a while since I wrote like I usually do
without paying attention to meter or rhymes...

If your definition of a poet is someone
who can make you relate and make you feel...

I can't let my thoughts wander,
my mind is a temple in ruins...

The-Fiery-Fierce-Fire
fires Fire firing Fiery-Fierce-Fire...

Who am I but some matter
that matters not in the entire universe...