I am aware
that the art is lost within me
these veins once gushing flares
desired to write the hurt and
paint the fun in red

In which the stars sang differently
and the calm at night prevails

Yet knowing they are just cruel
suns of chemical flames

For which the moon shone brighter
and the love for it unfades

where in darkness I look up and whisper
Oh wind! Can you hear me sing?

Lately, the poetry
my poetry is plain
and all I write is mere words of
deep emotions and events
knowing how faulty and unorganized
that I have lost a sumedth gain

Following this. I apologize
the art in me, it fade.