All of my love for you, will only ever written in letters, not in life.
For if I ever told you the truth, you would surely begone.
You'll forever be my last fleeting word, in life and in death.

Every friend when meets,
Seems an angel sent to us,
By the god from his providence,
But when departs after fulfilling,
His ends  selfish  and cunning,
All incidents of past moving.
In sky of our inner gloomy world,
Making us  cry and buzzing sad,
Echo of pain within ending world.

The heart of a writer is frail, like that of a flower waiting to be plucked. Life itself, or love, could uproot it, for no rhyme or reason.

I hate to say that my heart has been salted by the woes of man.
This never-ending race has left me wanting for watering.
Hang my heart on your wall with the others to dry out, my love.
I'm tired and weary—I need rest.

Brother, we knew each other.
And then it was gone, like laughter on the wind.
It faded to a gentle breeze on my skin.

Brother, we knew each other.
Though, fathers we never knew, we did what we could to become what we wanted.
Things we didn't say, if time had been kinder, you'd have been a great uncle to my kids one day.

Brother, one day I'll find your smile etched in the grass.
The wind still carrying your laugh across those green fields.
I'll carry you with me wherever I've gone, till I'm gone.