Just A Traveler Poem by Antonio Liao

morning have open the mist,
just as the scattered blowing wind, where
hundred of hour past, a hymn of
celebrated feast
of memories to live, thou it never be
the same again i stayed in the road
to live

rock it with sweet mistake, drink with
an honest caprices, and blind me of
laziness for only the good have
to kiss your lips in vain


would be it simple, where the eyes is
close and the spirit is open,
shall all things be past and the present
will lead you to rest;
yes! the tomb is
special and its cloth is made of a linen,
then what makes it a better person when
all are gone and the well is dried

bring me the oil and you shall be burn to
pieces to live...