To write food in the stomach
Of every hungry child.

To spell war as peace,
Metaphorize flowers into the barrel

Of every gun on Earth.
The poet has responsibilities

Beyond those of mothers,
Of kings and presidents.

I refuse to give up hope;  
This could be a poem world.

Come on, write your worst piece
Of literature.

Even misprints may give other
Meanings to a word,

Write me a green sky, blue dirt,
Trees the colour of air.

Sometimes the best poets
Have the least to say,

So keep writing, write until your
Fingers fall asleep.

Write until you havent slept
For weeks in search of that word,

That one right word,
Then rest on a notebook pillow

And dream the world right.
Write the world right.

There is no such thing as
Wasted poetry.

I spent my nights reading books in our greatest libraries
Searching for what it is I am still clinging on to,
Then after the final vowel I realised
The one thing I miss about you, is you.

Underlit by a candle
             Lightbulb reflections

Warming frozen hands
Lips smattering

Intettwining destinies

            Hands wrapped round
            No sound

I'm a passerby
     On this road of life
    Sleeping all day
        Zombie by night
  No purpose
      No reason
           No rhyme
   In this winter season
       The only thing
     I want to find
          Is a quiet
  Lonely place
To slowly waste away
        and
             **die

Reap a reaper,
riddle a riddler,
Out-think a thinker
while watching a man who
still steals steel
find peace in a
pierced piece,
as he see seas
that are ceasable.
laughing at laughter because it's laughable.

Risk seeking
to seek risking
so you can feel feelings
of love for a lover
because they're lovable
while realising that in reality they are not reliable
They get sensitive
about sensitivity
is that sensible?
Questioning questions
that are not questionable.

End at the beginning
or begin at the end
to rest restfully as you
dream dreamfully about
articulating art artfully.