The vast distance stretches into infinity,
Yet, I can sense the gentle movement of solitude,
Shaping the breeze around my exhausted eyes…

A poem called… You…
I responded to the feeble utterance
That you were long gone…

And the poem…
Became silent…

The poem called you…
Withdrew, to search for thee…
You were completely unreachable…
It only found…
Your gravestone…
With phrases engraved...
''My words were like…
Hanging skeletons..
Left to arouse from the dead…"

The harmonious noise produced by precipitation,
Delicately pelting the soil underneath...
The petals are bursting to bloom,

Inhale and exhale
The sweet fragrance,
Open the window,
Send greetings to the arrival of the spring season,
The melodious sound of birds singing can be heard,
It's the wake up call that spring hath arrived...

As time passes, loneliness remains present
Suddenly, the breeze metamorphoses,
Myself roams aimlessly like the seeds of the dandelions,
Once again, the thought of you...
Never fails to efflorescence,
Stop asserting to me that, with the passage of time,
Complete healing of a given affliction will certainly occur...
Because I am still mourning..

As the world seeks for a prey
Myself hath acknowledged I will become the next target!
So, myself must ignite the fire
Rather is among the roars of the thunder
The fire must shimmer all my foes...
If any predators dare strive to demolished
My serenity...
Then no mercy...
Will be granted...
For I will be no ones prey....
If merely my foes knew...
The rage hath drove me insane...
So, dare not mark me as the next prey!
Cause not even death makes me shiver...

Dear mother
What am I to you?
.....
Am I puppet?
Why hath you imprisoned me by your cobweb?
.....
Why do you loathe me?
Every time I strive to guard you...
You double- cross....
Again... You hath deceive me...
Like bonehead myself must pardon you for your betrayal....

Under no circumstances
Shall myself shall obey...
Those whom view my life as a subject...

Rather thee are composed or not
I shall script all the odes....
Because this poet is tie by the tides of hourglass...
And thee under no circumstances wither
For thee carry on my legacy
In that is thee, the ode thee are
So, as a poet I must script....
So, instead of flowers being thrown in my coffin
It shall be odes stumbling down towards my coffin....
December 1, 2019