If I had those pretentious brains which act faster than this heart
maybe then I would abhore this soul which spreads freely through each verse
maybe then I would impress you with my intellectual grammar and sophisticated words
maybe then I would scrutinize my each and every coma,dot and exclamationmark!
But I would never let that happen,I'd rather go away.
Writing with my mind and not my heart leads only to asylum within the being of myself.
Poetry is my voice,my life,my escape,my each emotion stored,processed in a yesterday
breathing softly in fresh air,wanting to explode in death, love,passion and romance.
Each verse, a thought I'm able to scribe of yet unable to express through spoken words.
Maybe in a tomorrow you might pass by ,tread your footstep on my verse
but maybe in a today,a broken-hearted fool stops by to find comfort in my world
Maybe a prisoner, an insane man,a tramp ,or any outcast to society
would pick these shattered pieces and gather them as whole
and maybe through this scribbled cross-word puzzle finds God'love once again.
Maybe a little child who understands only little words
would turn the pages of silly rhymes i penned
rhymes which speak of moon and stars,angels,dreams and faries
and maybe He would smile, maybe He would laugh
Maybe he would dream ,the way i used to dream
and maybe He would write the most eloquent sonnet
or maybe just simple words about blossoming flowers
And maybe then,my mission is accomplished,and maybe I feel blessed.