(Once a poet said ''all poets are liars)

You made life seem like it's larger than life
Have you ever lived your own poetries so rife?

You poets are thieves...

You stole all the good things to say in life
And you hit the truth sharp like a knife

You poets are unconscious killers

How words can change everything
Truth implied?
Life questioned?
Aches plain-implied?

I am no Poet....
I am a Man of a simple truth

Men want a confession. Women want a promise.
Men play. Women study.
Men talk and think . Women listen and think.
Men run. Women walk.
Men sing. Women dance.
Men cook. Women serve.
Men count numbers. Women write poems.
Men read puns. Women read paradoxes.
Men want to go fishing. Women want to catch fish.
Men demand dedication. Women demand devotion.
Men think backward. Women think afterwards.
Men want more time. Women want to turn back time.
Men believe in God. Women are friends with God.
Men have shame. Women have pain.
Men have pride and honor. Women have glory and victory.

When you stop singing
These rocks will start mumbling their words
Love is the slightest word i can think of to describe how i feel
Even if i could turn back time still i would have no power over you
Together we painted our own memories
I think to myself... Why....the times....the places...the feelings.. You....

When it gets darker...
When the world has fallen deep into a slumber...
The other inhabitants of our time start to creep out of their dens.
Those who dwell in twilights of world of men.

Those whose voices remain unheard...
Those whose faces remain unseen...
Those whose existence belong to our unconsciousness for good.
Those who dwell away from sheen.

Forgotten, lost eternally.
They lurk in the dark, the backside of our lives.
They whisper old names in the winds.
Timeless or running out of time.

Hovering around us night-veiled,
They cast dark scents away into the air.
Feeding on our fears.
As the night grows darker and colder.
Sons of the darkness.

We encounter them in thin places.
Where the boundary between dark and light fades away.
Where fear is the slightest hope we own.
When our days are slowly numbered

'' And God saw the light, that it was good, and God divided the light from the darkness. And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night.''