Like stars burn in the sky,                                  
A heart pounds to love even when broken.
Sigh of  breath that choose to stay in an art of a domicile            
that holds memories lost in ages, Beauty and perfection that chase after the wind joins two kinds of people,                    
That's me and you.

her eyes would go
to all sorts of faraways
body, mind and soul disconnected
yet merged into the perfect embodiment
breathing in a world filled with plastic and insincerity
behold are her hands that work wonders and as her words of pure,
she is the clearest vast of ocean and slate you will ever come across to witness

a flower amongst a field of defiled individuals
she is, if not, the closest to perfect

(n.j.)

Two years ago I would be terrified.

Sitting alone in the dark,
A bus stop on an empty street.

My hands are under my legs,
Im not cold.

Ive stared at a yellow light,
I imagine its hue as the sun
It feels warm.

Sounds of faint wind whistles course from one ear to another,
I smile and take a deep breath in.

Here where I am sat, I belong.

I close my eyes and imagine what will come of me,
What will come of me?

The Artic air, the sinister setting complete a tranquil mind.

I have accepted all odds.

I am not scared.

254

“Hope” is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—

I’ve heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.