In the Mosaic tiles of Dawn Spring,
How lucky are the broken tiles!
How prudent and profound they bring!
Oh colourful ! The once Fragiles.
Years ago , they were the Brokens
Yet now, they are wonder Smittens.
Couples are bright, handfuls are dark
Some are tiny, few are too large.
All fragments entwine for one spark;
Nor gleaming or burning it bursts.
It can't be gazed and be stolen.
Dull does the same what hued has done.
The tiles sow none but assemblance
Save brokens , keep dulls for good hence.
Giving up the ghost
Stolen from a ghost my heart I no longer need
Drifting through an assemblance of memories forever unfreed
Listen to the morning birds sing again just like yesterday I heed
I am but a splinter on a world that no longer exists but dreams feed
Aware of this fact where do people go to when cold breath punishes us in deed
No feelings of laughter or joy in anything I watch or listen to this place is for humans to live and die in greed
To live on would be a contradiction of what I once hoped and lived for but I regret the road it leads
No happy endings on this Earth just to live without any true purpose then watch myself shrivel till going back to seed.