Words,
Sometimes it’s sweet to be heard
It makes heart beating fast yet smiling in the face
At first we dwell it in our minds till we forget it
Words,
Sometimes it hurt to be felt
Tears which tumble from eyes,
Hearts which broken into pieces
And its recall in our mind for our lifetime


Words,
Who has said it will forget
Who has heard it will remember
Once you spilled it,
It will never take it back

In the middle of the night
as the breeze soothes the mind.
A lonely owl steps out to the light,
leaving his nest behind.
The moon shines
and the wind blows.
A nightingale hymns
while the gaslight glows.

Nocturnal creative artists at work.
The night fuels their quirk.
Then a sudden cacophony disturbs the air.
A noise no one can bare.
From a distance it can be heard.
It whistles, but it is not a bird.

It slows as it reaches its destination.
Breaking through the peace with its whistle.
The train stops as it reaches the station.

I can not write.
My hands ****** in time.
I scream at pixels,
some dead in the corner.
I want to open up.  
Let it pour out as an ocean,
until overwhelming empty.
Composure must be kept,
as this is an art with structure.
The words must perform,
as dancers do before an audience.
As they read this,
it is only half of what is felt.
They can’t smell the rot,
that infects backstage.
The nagging screams,
that would make the world deaf.
Or be blinded by black,
during the bright of day.
I just want to be felt.
Release the tension,
of societies chains.
Or your chains perhaps.
They choke,
my voice,
inhibit my steps.
I want to just run.
Each send is a cry,
in a soundless megaphone.
Can I reach them?
Does this reach you?
I can’t write anymore.
Press send.
Scream.

Always take that breath and
expel every syllable that's
                                 clinging.
Throw it out there, tell the
                                         world
what you thinking.

And don't let anyone
                   tell you otherwise.
Because a voice is beautiful,
                 because we all
                                       worth
what we say, don't let others take it away.

There was a sound
In the night
It was my passionate heart beating.
Restless and irritable...
I started to act out in artistic rhythms...
Communicating my disdain and  unhappiness
I changed such feelings to light
and fought the inevitable
The forces of strength were warmth and truth
a strong spirit
regenerating itself back to its former youth.
I stood up and wrote and played through the night.
I reached out to others
and helped ease the dark forces that blurred their innocence in sight
The Karma was bright as it returned to me..
Not wishing for a reward I smiled at the fruits of my labor
to aid this fine world
As I turned the pages of the future pages of History's Book
as my words changed the outcome which we had thought
could never be stopped from being unveiled.
It was freedom of spirit and speech
A beautiful weapon in which we all possess
I fought with such a brutal weapon towards darkness
as it was a beautiful cloaked dagger in which
upon darkness
I had it upon such used to wail.