I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend
I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies
through speaking my thoughts into existence
I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen
I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry
I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards
I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels
I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent of it
I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012
we strive to make sure
each day enlightens us
and brightens us
even as light fades to gray
may we keep fighting
with two swollen feet
beneath the body and soul
and intense life lessons
meshed with stresses
may we persevere
turn off fear's song
may we stand firm
as we glide along
through shifty winds of change
that may cause things to sway
but we hold true
inside the values and morality
we stand for
fall for nothing
may stumble along the trip
may swerve at the wheel yet
do not lose our grip
because no one
can eclipse the sun
before they're done
Just when situations arise
flooding us with pain we despise
and just when it seems like
our tear ducts are dry
from ongoing cries
we may think
things are on the brink of ending
then God shows us the ways of faith
by way of love that he's sending
we make sure
every day enlightens us
and brightens us
as each day takes its turn.
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2012
Obsessed with the thought of you
wondering if it's only me or
if you sometimes remember the sweet things you've said
and if you meant them how I took them
or if I'm just obsessed with what's in your head
Obsessed with your very sentences
Every response I take personal
I know it's selfishness
Have you not noticed my eyes?
They hold secrets that only you can unlock
if you'd just take time to fill the thick juices of my pride
It's just boiling with lust, passion, trust and distrust
and other things I obsess over so much
I find myself writing to free myself from this prison I've created
where only you and I reside
I become confused about what I'm really feeling inside and I
try to rid the thoughts that are highly debated as false and I
begin to cry and
think of casting love spells so that the universe can deliver this affair
I know it's unfair
but I don't care
I'm obsessed with what hasn't happened between us
I'm obsessed with your heart and that the fact that
I don't think you've even noticed my selfish innuendos
and secret undertones that blatantly express my lust
Or maybe you have and you calmly remain in resistance of distrust
If you could only read my mind by simply touching my fingertips,
I'm sure I'd catch you out the corner of my eye biting your bottom lip
I'm obsessed with the passion and thoughts I think you have
Obsessing over an experience that I may never have....
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2006
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
a guinea fowl
molting polka dot feathers—
© February 21, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Juxtaposition Haiku
Sponsored by: Charles Henderson
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2012
“There is a time for each season…
To everything made…
There is a divine reason.
A time for purpose under
the heavens above…
A time for meaning from a God of love.
A time to be born. A time to die…
A time to farm the ground
under the beautiful sky.
A time to kill. A time to heal...
A time to tear down and
to build up with a passion and zeal
A time for weeping. A time for laughing…
A time to mourn. A time for dancing.
A time to keep...
A time to throw away.
A time to tear. A time to make amends today.
A time to get. A time for losing…
A time to keep. And to give
away at our choosing.
A time for silence. A time to speak…
A time for each hour
and day of the week.
A time for love. A time for hate…
A time for war. A time for peace at your gate.
How will you spend the time
God has given to you?
What is your choice? What will you do???
May this be a time living in
God’s purpose and design.
He created you and made
everything beautiful in his time!
By Jim Pemberton 05/22/10
Read Eccl. 3:1-11
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2011
Yellowing larch -- these trees
Do not speak but seem to sleep,
Sheltering skinny sheep
Handily herded -- full-fleeced
In lanolin- laden wool.
Do not sleep much.
They speak their protest --
(Such ineffective baas) --
To cloning and to closeness.
All, doubles of the ovine others,
Crowded among brothers,
Cowering under silent wood:
Dissimilar dark fir;
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011
I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...
Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed,
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised.
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us.
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow.
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you.
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
Imagine lakes of dreams
Blood contained streams
Imagine oceans that behold undiscovered beings
Imagine human life depended off of cheers and games
Man design’s umbrellas
And eventually would play a part in acid rain
Imagine not wanting to smell another rose
Or touch another soul
Because of despair and shame
Imagine in the mist of your demise
You have the passion to rejoice and sing
Imagine driving pass shattered glass
The interior is soaked with blood stains
Your mind can't comprehend the fact
that it's a dead family in the next lane
Imagine dreaming for freedom
As a result by your neck you hang
Imagine for the sake of progress
You whip a man on his back and call him a slave.
Rage, Pain, Fortune, and fame
You don't have to imagine this
Because that's what life brings.
Copyright © Andre Sanders | Year Posted 2012
envision harmony and mental clarity
focus on a journey of possibility
Meditate on transformation and
awareness of inner state
peace and healing
instruct your mind
to redirect the lost and struggling inner voice
Where you can’t see the wood for the trees
under your nose is the path of freedom
Put aside perceived struggles
revitalize, relax, respond
to body, mind, heart and spirit
Intuition, introspection and spiritual renewal
bring about personal healing and
Stillness of mind – concentration
Thoughts of the subconcious and subliminal
beyond all negativity
away from all interuption
To allow time for self communication and
expression of inner self
Senses – awareness of scent, sight, sound, taste and touch
Healing hands of the medical profession or alternative therapy
ambiance, temperature, oils, music, sounds and
sights of nature or universe
realisation comes in various form and shape
causing us to feel life in fullest expression
Connecting – whispers of wind
radiating everpresent warmth of sun
a blanket of love and light comforts consoles over and through the cosmos
rippling infinately through infinity outwards, onwards
connecting right back into where we are at right now
unmoved unchanged and as we were
Wise – responsible courageous allowed to let go of need to be judgemental or
let go of controlling enable trust wisdom and humility
intelligence of knowing others
wisdom of knowing self
strength in mastering others
power to master oneself
Energy -breath, force, spirit, soul, God, universe –
whatever – doesn’t matter how you refer to it on personal level
energy, balance, light, sound, vibration, peace
centered self – stillness – silent – eternal –
to have enough is a richness in itself
accept appreciate and acknowledge oneself
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2011
I will walk with God
In the beauty of the morning
While the dew still lies upon the ground
While the birds still sing their morning song
And while the evening sky still twinkles like neon lights
And the sun still rises with its golden glow bathing everything in glorious light
And in The evenings quiet where I live has entered its time of rest at calling dusk
He still holds me tight in His warmth under downy wings soft like clouds that puff and blow across a horizon that only God could grow to water and shelter a land dependant on His goodness-
Yes I still walk with God in great expectations- reliant on His promises of always being with me- And He- even amidst the horrors of war famine and disease and evil atrocities born from the darkness of evil- His promises are still new every morning that I wake- and He still bears me through the trials and carries my burdens and makes them light- He is still my Father- And He is still My Lord and- He still- Knows my name.
© Brenda V Northeast 16th march 2012
Copyright © Brenda Victoria Northeast | Year Posted 2012
Extraordinary, I am
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding the gift I shouldn't fought
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
The food of my soul
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart
Copyright © Katrina Salem | Year Posted 2012
The ladder backed pecker,
like a prison uniform.
Caught-up in exposing
the truth beneath the bark,
of the poet's apple tree.
We prefer ourself in spring;
with tiny little flowers,
and the fruit of possibility.
Yet, if not for the woodpecker,
tapping holes into poems,
we might not ever see
the flesh and blood of raw meat.
I will climb that ladder back,
escape pre-decreed standards.
Tap into that syrupy mixture
and suck-out truth from hard wood.
Yes, lessons from a jail bird.
A pest in the Avian Kingdom.
Wisdom from the little rebel,
beat-out of a tree.
Copyright © Dean Walker | Year Posted 2006
You scowl in anger as I turn to go,
Your gemstone eyes so full of jealous heat;
You do not understand, and cannot know
The thoughts that turn my head and guide my feet.
The image which you have is incomplete,
And so by definition soon will fall.
Your views are suffocating -- obsolete --
I will not be your pretty paper doll.
I will not bend my head or stoop down low
To make myself a mindless slab of meat,
Or let my soul be shaken to and fro
To lose itself and crouch beneath your seat.
Would you deny my voice to hear the bleat
Of brainless chatter, just to watch me crawl
To bed and spread my legs beneath your sheet?
I will not be your pretty paper doll.
An ever-changing wind will come and blow
Through Winter, Spring, and Summer, in the street;
And restless waters will forever flow,
Their colors cool, their textures smooth and sweet;
Yet you would change the pulsing, throbbing beat
Of Life and Love, to answer ev'ry call.
Mistakes made in the past, you would repeat --
I will not be your pretty paper doll.
Your mental boxes, always stacked and neat,
Have packed my essence up against a wall.
Take care, my love -- this gypsy heart is fleet;
I will not be your pretty paper doll.
Copyright © M. Teresa Blaylock | Year Posted 2006
Sometimes to no avail
You struggle to be different
Like snowflakes you fall
Believe you are vindicated, distinct and exclusive
With innovative design and crystallized mind
Attempting to impress everyone with the hand you have
only we all have the same cards
Razor sharp edges and frosty images
We are slush after a too many Sunday afternoon
Deteriorated with a warped spinal column and a stone-washed mentality
Liquefied by last season's snow boots and plowed to the side most of the time
Human quality is overstated and overrated
the world is far too over populated
we are all the uniform
with carbon bonds, hydrogen and oxygen
I doubt my DNA complexity is what makes my soul mine
We are all hypocrites, benevolence is only to benefit ourselves
When you come out of the cloud your eyes are misted and your judgment’s
With age it doesn't get better only you assume you grasp what you require
But really you've been programmed and proselytized until you do not know what
We come out with different intentions and modifications but I’ll see you in the end
Still that damned snowflake condemned
Copyright © Bella Cardenas | Year Posted 2007
Walking down the evening avenue,
I look straight ahead, and see
The sea of people part before me. Each
Rushing in their separate directions, not making
Eye contact. I want to reach out and feel
For myself that they are real. It occurs
To me that nothing, no one, ever touches.
It is as if we are all surrounded by impenetrable bubbles,
And we spend our whole lives
Passing, avoiding, maybe brushing, sometimes even
But we never make real contact.
Surely we are not to blame.
The structure of the very atoms that build this world
Betrays us. Strong cores, positive and inseparable,
Surrounded by a frenzied cloud of negativity.
Like charges repel, and electrons
Will never swallow their pride
And kiss their neighbor.
So our bodies are left hovering
Over the earth, our hands hovering over
One another, a mother’s lips hovering just above her
Child’s hair. Even in our most intimate moments
We are all separated by this thin, impossibly small layer
It is cruel, and yet, there are good reasons why
We cannot touch.
Touch and witness the crumbling of things,
As the chasms that hold us to together close
And tear us apart. Witness as flesh
Melts into flesh into the Earth.
Witness as the Earth melts into itself,
Into space, into the greater void.
Touch and witness an endless chain of nuclear fusion.
Witness irreconcilable sameness.
Touch and witness the end of everything
That you longed, for so long, to touch.
All this and yet, the ache remains.
Is it any wonder, that we all feel incomplete?
Copyright © Katie Mitchell | Year Posted 2009
I do not know?
they end all fight
the bride with no veil
to see with no eyes
why do we despise
as the world does turn
our minds they do churn
thinking too much
my mind loses clutch
and the wall does grow
so high i cannot throw
my words at your mind
they fall short then behind
frustration sets in
as the sun goes to fin
the darkness will win
not i as this is my sin
i will glance with no stare
find the pain that is there
and the wind will be fair
as it carries my prayer
one day you will feel
what i meant to steal
as the darkness will peel
my pain from this real
communicate i cant
i try but its faint
i turn on my pain
i turn on my pain
i turn on my pain
i cannot regain
i want to show the day
that the sun will remain
as the clouds unite
they don't end all fight
it is i that must cite
it is i that must fight
for only i can prevail
only minds can grow stale
if not used you will trail
if not used you will fail
if not seen its your grail
if not noticed your in hell
i will try to tell all
i must try to not fall
only you will be seen
in my eyes of ever clean
that the tears will one day fall
down my cheek in all glory
as they will be of not pain
but rejoice as i gain
and rejoice we shall reign
to the water of no shame
as i finally can blame
no one else for my rain
and all the world will see
it was i that was freed
it was i with no creed
that was released to bleed
Copyright © Penn Kname | Year Posted 2006
Pumping black blood
Sea life falls dead with a thud
By Robb A. Kopp
All Rights Reserved © MMX
Copyright © Robb A. Kopp | Year Posted 2010
He stood atop a mountain overlooking the city
Longing for days long past
Chemical smoke filling the air as a hawk flew over
Knowing soon he'd breathe his last
He remembered his grandfather and the stories he told
With arms reaching out to his forefathers he calls
They have taken our land but will not take our pride
He glances down at the city as a teardrop falls
Once they walked this land hunting and fishing
A communion with nature taking only what they need
Now there is smoke and pollution all around
Destruction from progress and white man's greed
Destroying their culture with neither conscience nor regret
Between nature and man they built giant walls
They could have learned from his people a love for the land
And he thinks of his children as a teardrop falls
He looks to the skies for guidance from above
With anguish, his grandfather's words he recalls
He prays for his children and their children too
With arms raised to heaven as a teardrop falls.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2008
Blame was burning in her eyes,
Flames were screaming out of head,
Tongue was a piece of flash,
But heart was pumping fast.
Body was lying on a bed,
Night was cuddling with her,
Dreams were scattering fast,
But she was helpless to touch them.
How can she stop someone’s mouth?
What had she done so wrong?
Her welcoming steps were weeping,
And crying for her coming home.
Father was ill and mother was old,
Husband was drunkard and idle,
When comes late at night,
Demand’s money from her family.
She thought to kill herself,
But her little child climbed to her feet,
Her jumping fire fell into a pool of tears,
And her feelings were damped.
Suddenly her husband came home,
And started to kicking her badly,
Her mouth starts to bleed,
And she fell down and crying with pain.
Child was only eight and watching quietly,
His father was lying on a bed,
He stabbed a knife in his chest,
Sun was arising and he was playing in dust.
Copyright © Daljit Khankhana | Year Posted 2005
I do not know?
With malar flushes,
Causelessly she blushes,
In solitude, to herself she smiles,
While walking, aimlessly she tarries.
With a startled look,
Whom does she seek?
Copyright © Dr.Hemant Vinze | Year Posted 2005
The Quakers, being religiously persecuted, set sail from expatriated England;
they were the first settlers to reach the shore of New England: a free land!
Later the Puritans came and settled in other eastern, bustling colonies
seeking the same religious freedom, but their urge was stronger than dreams.
Many moved westward on foot, on horseback and on overloaded wagons...
exploring the American wilderness plundered by indigenous Indians;
they searched for grassland everywhere, to let their cattle roam and graze;
first they built wooden shacks on vast, lush prairies full of Queen Ann's Lace.
And out of this American westward expansion, came the fearless pioneers,
who sought gold mines...despite the wild cowboys causing troubles
with heavy drinking and desire for unscrupulous women, seeking money and pleasure,
who served them more whisky and lured them to a room with a demeaning measure.
Beyond the Rocky Mountains' and the Appalachians Mountains' skies,
these diligent pioneers obtained wealth with sweat and sacrifices...
changing and shaping the wild landscapes of arable land,
avoiding the drudgery of getting stuck in mud and sand.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010
Copyright © Muhammad Safa Thajudeen | Year Posted 2014
My nightmare is so tangible...so vividly I dream,
The dream, it feels so true to me...reality it seems.
Exhaust and smoke are all I breathe...the air is full of smog...
The job I do is thankless toil, but I work it like a dog.
There's mercury in the fish I eat...there're toxins in my food...
And drugs, they are a constant scourge...myriads for every mood.
Bipolar is my government...a house divided 'tis...
And corporations drive both sides...in the pockets of "Big Biz".
The icecaps, they are melting...the sea is rising, too.
Pandas, condors, polar bears -- empty cages at the zoo.
My money ne'er seems quite enough...I'm always out of cash...
My freedom fled when I wed my bride...(live I under the lash).
"Entertainment"? Reality TV...maybe some vampire shows...
Or idjits becoming household names for being beachfront "ho's".
People clamor "climate change" from the seats of S.U.V.'s,
And bitter news on the honey front...what's killing all the bees?
Politicians spending more...we go deeper in the red.
Opinions dressed as "news" abound...is journalism dead?
Cell phones are ubiquitous...conversation's endangered now...
And "Kardashians" are famous girls..but who knows why or how?
How strange my twisted psyche is t'make real what must be fake...
Now'f only I could find some way to get myself to wake.
Written on November 27th, 2012
By Daniel Beus (Rebel Sun)
Copyright © Daniel Beus | Year Posted 2012
***NOTE~TO BE READ WITH A RIDICULOUS "SILKY SOUTHERN DRAWL" (have fun:)***
"Storm over yet...?"
"Well hay'ell ye'ah!
sum'body git me a da'gumm cole beer.
whadda'bou that boy th'er?
sum'body git him'a cole beer too!"
"Diddy! that boy ain't nothin' but 8 years old!"
na'I don't give a jolly'durn, if he ain't nuttin but 8 year'owed!
'dat boy dun' sat him thr'ew a big ol', storm!
torna'durr warnin' too!
he gonna have him'a cole burr;
mama, git him'a cole burr!
ta'days father's day!"
© 2011 ~JSLambert Esquire
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
Land of the free
Home of the slaves
The blood, sweat and tears of my ancestors resonate
Amongst the soil where they were slain
I’m hearing their struggle
I’m feeling their pain
I can’t imagine being forced to part from my family
All for massa’s gain
So I pay homage to those who promoted change
People like every slave who tried to escape
Nat Turner, Ms Carlotta, Harriet Tubman
And the safe houses who were in accord
And peg leg Joe with his song
Follow the drinking gourd.
People like, the disregarded - those thrown overboard
And who was dismissed and defamed
The ones who were stripped of their soul, their pride, their names
The list could go on
The full will never be told
So I pay homage to others who were bold
Like John Brown, The Freedom Riders, Sojourner Truth
Ida B Wells, Phyllis Wheatley, Maya Angelou,
Langston Hughes and Charles Drew
George Washington Carver, Ruby Bridges
Booker T Washington and Mary McCleod Bethune
Charles Houston, Ralph Bunche, Fredrick Douglass
WEB Dubois, Paul Robeson, Ralph Abernathy
Benjamin Banneker, Marcus Garvey and Crispus Attucks
Who’s death by the way
Symbolized the American lie
You cant declare the rights of all men
While the people of African decent rights get denied
But still we rise
Thanks to Dr Martin Luther King, Malcolm X,
The Black Panthers, the Buffalo Soldiers and Tuskegee Airmen
None who were showed any love
Yeah it’s an uphill battle,
But obviously greatness can be done.
We can rise above this stigma
That blacks are lazy and daunting
That our worth is null and void
And in essence minus nothing
And of all the names mentioned
And the greatness of their successes
No one has been able to erase the evil transgressions of a racist mind
And once you have experienced just a taste of it
It changes your perception of time
The oppression beats like the drum on the chariot
Of when it was finally time to escape to freedom
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2011
Tic, tac, I’m waiting to hear
Ti, ta, my hands shake with the beat
A relapse of this self-produced Parkinson.
------I finally hear something beautiful
My toes curl up and down and dance to the music.
I float away and see my shoes from above
My hair dances to the beat and the room grows smaller
As I fly away into space
I see the same things over and over and over and over
Little, burning, british styled cottages
What is it I’m waiting to see?
I dive into a cloud in search of what I know I will not find
My back aches as I reach for that I don’t know what;
I think I’m getting closer.
Over over here the air seems to be sweater
That, I think, is a sign I’m near.
It’s grimy, I’m flying on my tiptoes now. Tiptoes.
A ghost of sugar approaches me, with the sun as a head
I follow its finger and its mysterious direction and swim away
There! I’ve seen it! My heart takes the melody over
It is me who commands the tune! Pom-pom, pom-pom…..
As I grasp it I wait and wait and linger and remain
For the explosion.
I don’t know what to expect, its wrapping so beautiful!
From here, I Jazz my way down and fall back into this painful black shoes
But all is better now;
I Samba the day with a smile smudged on my features
I know there is Salsa in this world!
Then I walk down the street, moving my body
The Polkaing fingers won’t stop
They’ve been accelerated:
Tra la la la.
Copyright © Pamela Calero | Year Posted 2007
While looking at the vast blue sky,
I can imagine myself
Sitting against a tree,
Watching the sea
And hearing the sound of the waves.
It still questions my mind...
Why am I here all alone?
Why can't I enjoy the beautiful scenery
in front of me?
I feel incomplete from deep within
I don't know why I feel this kind of thing
But the incompleteness of myself bothers my mind.
And in the end..
I still question myself...
Copyright © zsarrr inna | Year Posted 2014