My faith is drawing thin
Like a thread in the wind

Dry are the tears
        that are never shed,
Rolling down in silence
        along the golden thread.


They are the warriors
       whose stories are never told,
Born amidst the torments
        with nothing to hold.


Fighting constantly to hold the mask
        and never to reveal,
The battle to defeat the pain
        and conquer Achilles' heel.


The cries of the heart are masked
        by the eyes that run dry,
Smiling through the emptiness,
        letting only a bit of honesty to pass by.

I wrote
I wrote
poems of disgust
poems of love
poems of criticism
Has it ever occurred to me
that my words were more than words
that my thoughts were more than thoughts
I see,
a poem works better when you're really confused
writing it.
And this probably why
I'm trying to write the confusion out
Words are being told and written
Tomorrow
words written on a piece of paper
may perhaps, mould my destiny
And I'm more confused than ever
the day before
On whether this is the start
or this is the end
Why the sonnet?
the villanelle?
the ballad?
why, oh why
Some reason why
I saw poets drafting poems
5 drafts before a poem
and I don't why
Simply because am I not writing a poem?
that many people put pens onto their heads
and scratch their chins
Is it not a poem enough that I'm writing this?
Or filled with secrets should it be?
A need for a title?
A space for a little flight off to another world?
Where Time starts with a capital T?
And perhaps, Death too?
Is it not a poem enough that I'm writing this?
Repetition after repetition
Theme
Structure
why the need
if you dare to speak out through your words on paper?

I lost half the battle
How do I
Carry on