Someday,
I know my feelings will reach you. . .

Like a whisper in the wind,
I'll make your skin tingle,
Then paint black river,
Flowing down your cheeks. . .

I'll make your mouth appear
Like trampled cherries,
With poisoned arrows
Piercing your  h e a r t . . .

You'll die slowly, in regret
In     u t m o s t   s o r r o w  . . .
Then ill burn your flesh,
disperse it unto the wind . . .
A death so enlightening
Like the death of my feelings,
That killed you,
B y    t h e    w i n d . . .

My impossible dream is to
live in the historical times,
of floating castles,
and flying white pegasus.

To fly above the skies,
and see the city full of,
blooming irises.

To eat bread, cheese & soup,
after a long day's work.
Yeah, a girl dressed as a boy.

To ride a boat,
promising a future,
with my dearly beloved.

To run across the city market,
against a group of armored soldiers,
with their spears held up high.

To save a noble's carriage,
from a midnight's ambush.
To jump above a moving vehicle,
saving young girls enslave.

To hear sonnets,
and watch cultural plays,
of a tyrannic king,
and the hero of the masses.
Where revolution ignite,
without a sword,
without a single enemies' blood.
Just a hero, bringing peace,
to our dear land.

I shall weep for the demise
of my fellow comrades,
and the tragic fates,
of all pure hearts.

In the end,
I will plant a seed,
that can withstand any weather.
Then I shall look up in the sky, saying:

*"I HOPE MY PRAYERS SHALL PASS THROUGH TIME."

It is a  r e c o r d
Of the sudden impulse of mind,
Where   s u b c o n s c i o u s  
Was caught on act,
Reminiscing some past you can't fathom.
And so, you turned it into words,
That existed in  e v e r y   p a r t  of the world.
You extend beyond the skies,
And kindle the galaxy in soft touches of ink.
You named all the stars,
In search for your  l o s t   s o u l ,
Disintegrating to something bigger,
You havent noticed.
From there you understand,
That the  p e r s o n  you are,
Could be someone  g r e a t e r.
With such blinding passion.
In keen  p o s s e s i o n .

All because of your subconscious
Hiding truth from you,
Your mind gets amnesia,
But the  h e a r t  keeps beating in rhythm,
Turning every monotone
Into   c h a o s   m e l o d y.
So you grasp for air,
And hold your pen. . .

Pounding into   s  p a c e  ,
            Letting  f r e e d o m  sink in.

And that's how words became,
So beautiful. .
Because that is YOU.

But somehow,
Some of us lose ourselves,
In between.

And that's how beautiful it is.
You stop, to admire it for a second.

**S o    b e a u t i f u l . . .