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She is a lost soul.

She wonders, yet she still could not fathom the urge to be made whole again. And then she wanders, a soul thirsty for new beginnings.

She was looking down at the big city—they were so alive, heavy breathing's can be heard around; footsteps were rushing—smiles plastered on their faces, yet they were so alone.

They were made out of different stories—but there is only one thing they must find and feel, to be found and be whole. Besides, they were not so different—if she is a lost soul, what can hinder her to find her one true love?

And then there's him—he was made out of soft pillows, he was an another poem she's excited to read. He was an ink—giving another color to a blank page; he was a story she will never get tired of: to read.

She was so eager to see him every time. To feel him—to look at his heart; yet he was an almost to its completion—and then there's her, so broken—humiliated, hurt and blinded.

There's no space left for her. And then she wandered again. She tried so hard to forget him—she thought he was the one who will complete everything that is lost and broken; yet she was left with no other choice: to be a wandering soul, again.

Maybe she was made exactly like that—no other form of strings will tie the knot, other than herself.
Oh to learn how to love you.
Aleka 5d
Your touch
burns my skin,
as hot as a blazing fire
Your words,
pierce my heart
just like a sharp dagger
Your eyes,
undress my soul,
gently and effortlessly.
wander through my mind,
at any moment and any time.
I wander
And search
Deep inside
My mind
And find
The words
To write
The chapters
Of my
Boring life.
old willow May 13
At times, I wish to be a rock.
When the wind ceases, it ceases.
When the wind moves, it moves.
It stops when it stops,
Move when it moves.
A slight push carries it countless distances.
What is more free than a rock?
That, I do not know.
old willow May 11
Opening the window, I watch the bird depart
With a heart.
They say distant heart tend towards like places,
Yet my heart drifts with no traces of paces.
When the heart drifts,
So does the spirits.
Travelling a thousand miles,
I hope it finds its replies.
I've got
no Roots -

They've been ripped
of me;

my Being,
a wandering Soul
sailing across
Seas of Desolation.
© 06/05/20
Ken Pepiton May 3
Nothing that could have killed you,
so far,

Thus this is the day,
this is the day that can **** you,
if you fail to live through it.
Pay attention, times a wastin'. Nay, say time is being invested in me, mind wandering.
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