Writing poems bout you
I hang them in my room
The wind clinking the sound of words

Living in a glass house
I invite the sun every dawn to dusk
To dispel shadows of the dark words
Meaningfully they glaze on hopeful strings

But I let the water be the door
Where my  translucent  emotions flow
There the words roar and tranquil

**Last but not least on firm ground I stand
Where in my hands' clay the words mindlessly play
Moulding them in canvases to string them once again