Details |
Poem
he bud of my dream blooms color in the dead of winter, but i must not utter a sound for fear
it will wither/ for if i speak too loud, surly i will kill it/ but what is darkness will always come
to life, until there is light/ & through the silence, i will submit myself to birth it, nurturing it/
liken it to spring, turn summer which is winter’s only cure, it, growth's natural current/ it
will be worth it, for i shall worth it/ for if i am worthy enough to dream it, i am worthy
enough to create it, become it. #AK47
Copyright © | Year Posted 2011
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