Being with you is like
playing hide and seek
in the woods,
loving you is like
a poetry that lovers
spoke for centuries.

Hunters come back to haunt
who doesn't exist,
his ghost is still penetrating
through her shallow mind,
for a thousand years of playing knives,
she left there, undesired.

She thought "that would be enough"
it would be his revenge or punishment,
her vial was empty but he was a bloodlust,
words could cut and anguish could be unbearable,  but tears will run dry.

The days turn into dust;
those memories she recollect
if he is seem to love again
maybe, she will find her faith
and her place.

She lost in darkness with broken dreams
she knew, it will only leads her to death;
Why do people keep coming back
on those things they left behind?

There is a star I look upon
the midnight blue sky,
in gray moonlight
after the showers.
You reached the end—
the death of star.

"For love can comment upon every woe"

This love
has been dead and remained ghost,

my love
my stowaway,
"as who should say,
my strength is tried"
he's the light within the dawn
As the morning star is seen
by glistening eyes.

His love—
his eyes, a melancholy malcontent

if his love will soon forget,
this is what I can't have again.

Long ago
there were poets
who taught us
how life goes on.

They were left in dust
but kept on pages
they gave us reason to love;
You must give it back.

People are made of shattered mirror
they shine through its broken pieces;
a misunderstood beauty
totally human.

They kept words unsaid
in blurred voices
they broke their promises
in their own idea
they lost in translation
as they can never be fixed again.