the poet is dead
but the pen still got an ink
the poem is in rhythm
but i can't figure out the meaning
where the writer writes to write
and not to be written
where it all starts
and the eye darts
on the ****** white page
deeply savaged
by thoughts in mind
serene and appealing
laughing and dancing
to concretize these thoughts
to make immaterial material
to transcend something spiritual
the poet is dead
yet he is living
not lurking in the dark
but educating
the future in the making

****
Every word you said
for they’re just words
and words can do me no harm.
**** those words
That remained just words
Until now
****
Every word you said
Cos I got my hopes up
But words are just words
And after all they were just ..
Words ?
But it got me
Somehow, in either way
Any way.

I’m falling for your heaven
Together with my oldest sweet desires
Down in the corners of my dream
I found you sleeping

My ecstasy.

The safest place is inside my head
Where I could stumble down and fall
And mumble your name
Taste the life
Slur the words
And put your arms around me
Feel the heat against my skin
Let my heart skip its beat

I’ll sail towards you
To reality

But the ecstasy.

Brought me back
To the corners of my dream
Where I found you sleeping