Blankness of canvases and silence of guitars
are pouring over horizons...

The anniversary of my fathers departure
Now...

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Just a morning dew can wrap its arm around an...

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Maybe only music could rescue me in this heart...

What am I to do when the gladiolus cannot stretch...
this vase of loneliness anymore...

We sculpt our idols on our own
from the stone we carve and chisel...

We live together though
we die separately...

It was very musical though it was soundless.
everything in garden...

The rain is gone.
The trains are gone...

I do not wish to live
but my mom's illness...

Straight like an arrow,
the vigor of my postures...

Now is the point that
the past and prospect fasten...