My days at Penlandia definitely reached its afterglow Now it’s hard for me to find my rhythm Hopefully, the soul of some of my poetry will find their mark If not unto someone’s head, then to somebody’s heart
I hope my words are not just vandals on the wall Nor merely a stain on the paper I created them to touch, stab, **** and make love To bring peace unto hell and create fire in the sky above
It’s up to your eyes now, my dearest readers to magnify Hate my stuff or love them What's the reason why I’m inches away on parking my pen? Voices from the other side echoes within my ear again and again
That’s why I’m writing this poetry as if my last But if one day you’ll see me deploying another poem I hope you enjoy stories with an unexpected ending Besides, even the afterglows have a little radiance remaining