Still In Peace

I am but a living matter, with no much giving wonder I’ve seen my birth twice, all after an attempted suicide thrice I still weed and weave, that is, think and compose Yet I am still but willed to be still. Ignition in my struggle have seen my daring heart through I still and possibly, will write with no much height In me I see the silent child-like Emily Dickson, still doing my fiction Still, creating, hoping, losing and breaking my skeletal friction I know rejuvenation shall get me there Where the hearts grill with cheer. I’ve crawled to the lands Far East, then Far West To the North and South Pole In my interactive intractable mind of imagination Yet to lose but to give I’ve captured the silent mourning Of many unable, disabled, able-less people I’ve coined the immaculate wealth and health Of many reliable very able people And still to be real, I am but still. Written 2006 Just the young thoughts of the young mind