A tire in your bones. Those craving for spirit have not much to hope for but hope itself Attaining belief for the sake of it and that it shall grant you rest For blind faith speaks more of blindness than

If we can't see our hope. The light at the end of the tunnel is seen as the ending of our darkness. Since we need to grow. And growing with me is a liability, not an asset When seeing more is necessary

Nothing is as what it is Without the right set of lens We can look out as satisfying as it can get, For what we can only find nearest And yet when we find it, It can be found anywhere Everywhere But you

I told you don't make something out of nothing So you created sadness out of happiness You forged hope in the darkness? And yet melted into questions from solid answers. I remember saying Insecurities

The devil knows best, what is your best interest. Just listen to him carefully, You will lose your harmony! Just some morning silliness :-)

So few poets Write about beauty Because it has to be part Of your life. You can’t draw Waters of enchantment From a polluted well. I’m not saying You have to be perfect— I’m not, But writers, like priests,

Why are you sleeping when you and I can still fix this You'd rather leave to put in effort for kisses It's the distance I swear as your mistress Please try Even in my sleep I'm restless Deny That I was

A writer's journey pales against the words a writer has chosen to relay the story I implore for you to expand your mind. So from a novice to amateurs, please go easy on me, I ask I wish All that bull about

It’s raining again… Outside, the storm Is taking liberties Careening drunkenly Down the street Scattering Branches of trees. It’s plain to me The wind has a purpose— To rattle the window panes, Disturb

If I could handpick among you, I would only pick a handful To move with me and inspire to move, we'll make change a constant And our purpose the greatest thing we could lose See, I will change into many