poetry

Life’s History

My life’s history has now turned into poetry.

I learned how to turn something devastating,
Into something creative and beautiful.

She’s made of old songs and poetry, books, coffee and dreams.

The darkness that burns your heart, A story weaves in a secret place. Years of search for a light, Spill out everything, Tonight.

The Heart Has A Mirror We aren’t alive or dead, We aren’t natural or ethereal, We haven’t body or soul, We do not exist in this world or in another,

Some dreams bow out shapeless, Scramble under a mantle of fog. The murky sun and the gravel road, Lived the austerity of the time.

Beggars, Our place is placeless, Traces of the traceless. Beggars, made of immortal light, We search the lyric grace of silent music,

I laugh with my friends when we meet, ‘Cause when I’m alone, tears are what my heart keeps. And, all I want is freedom, From this so-called ‘life’.

There’s so much to live for Like having rain drops trickle down your face, Having your index finger wrapped in the palm of a baby,

Don’t Judge It’s nothing new to judge someone,Without being in their shoes, Without talking to the one, And knowing nothing ’bout his loss.