halting progression
stumbling steps

keeping on one direction
starting with a prayer

a Divine breath
lifting your spirit

the hand of an angel
when least expected.

Writing
is not just
the enjoying
it's more
much, much more-
not just the words
the feelings
the sentiments
the haunting rhyming
the dancing
of the rhythm :
all this
is just the mechanism
the acquired art
of words--stringing

the great poets
this they will be saying:
my writing
is really me
in my total being
to the muse surrendering
in the mystery
of creating-
within my heart
and soul
in rapturous stirring
and act of totally
being absorbed
in worshipping.

It's not sadness
a better term is melancholy:
the poets have said this poignantly
in much of their sublime poetry

if I'm silent at any moment
think this simply of me:
something within
is bearing an undefinable story.

It’s like I’m looking for ways to avoid myself      

       (I’m looking for ways to not care)

It’s like I’m going around every corner trying to avoid my own stare  

It’s like I’m running away from a shadow

          (Yet I know it’s always there)

I’m afraid of every part of me I swear…

They want me to love myself???

                      “Say hi!”

  Look in the mask

         There’s blood
            
                     It’s stained.

Avoiding myself

(a lonely ride)

All of the ways I could

           -complain-

Look to my heart and you’ll see

     (inside it steadily bleeds)

Blood veil drags behind me
                       &
I don’t know how to scream

"Some people just can't resist your smile,talent and happiness for no reason."