To live in pencil lines,
As if drifting along the path of an arrow,
Creating boundaries; where lines should go,
Are lines not dots moving in a particular flow?
...
Sleep always long to take my breath away,
But promises never to trouble any man's good rest,
A dreamland with vision faraway,
A giver and angel of a renewed breath,
...
Laid in pools of his living blood,
as his heart sobs close to death,
liquor's swift judgement to death,
while travelling in the rainy flood.
...
Maybe just a little push,
Perhaps a little more effort,
Or a little bit of the time,
That little word for my memory.
...
Time with you was worthwhile,
Happiness the virtue that dearly drives,
Let those moment wets your seething thirst,
Before it eventually becomes your dried past,
...
A flower that grew so high,
The brightest colour of a favoured bride,
Walking on marbles, the ceiling is sky,
Spreading its petals with a magnificient pride,
...
Can you see the destines;
written on the clouds over us?
Or hear the words of the trees;
shouted into the winds that blows towards us?
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In timely feast, my heart yearns,
wholly to elect your reign in my heart,
or will you despise the will of a man's heart?
in vain of this momentary despair?
...
In deciding whether to live or die,
to be with God or the devil,
perhaps being born, to be again born,
may be either a heavy or light chose.
...
With dream eggs to lay,
After a seemingly long day,
In the shinning Sun, I made hay,
Just; gains for the morrow,
...