I am not a poet anymore.
Or have i ever been?
The overflowing shiver,
that ran through my skin
on every flush of whims
seems to really gone till the last bit.
Scenes and sights that stirred me
from deep within
are powerless now,
as if they lost the reason to exist.
Your captivating glance,
the touch of your hands,
even the breath of love from your lips
can't turn the tides
and bring back the dreams.
Form day to day this fever feels foreign to me.
It may be right or wrong,
but seems, that I am not a poet anymore...