i still
do not know
the poem i've been trying to write
and maybe
that's because
i haven't been
writing one at all
or maybe it's because
the poem i've been trying to write
is not ready for paper
and maybe
i'm the paper
that's not ready for it

Every second passing by
I die
trying to understand life

Same old **** just a different day.
What does that really portray ?
What can you do when you don’t have much of a say ?
Feels like you’re stuck in the mud and everything around you is bad.
With time as your only ally, do what you can to get by and always give it your best try.

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

As my ego grew to a different latitude,
It came with a twisted attitude.
Lack of gratitude for the things around me lead to blessing bypassing me.
Filled with agony , I had to go on a journey within me.
The journey lead to clarity, serenity & most importantly it humbled me.