A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.

FOUR LITTLE POEMS

ON WAKING

Sleep,
Let morning pass on by,
Although the sun plays on thine eye,
Until your heart,
Warmed by its rays,
Stirs you out
Your slumbering ways.

ON FORGETTING

The pain slowly seeps away
Like rain,
Down cracks between the days.

IN SANITY

What do I profit from sanity?
What lies beyond
The soft padded cell
Of my comfort zone?

THE FALL

A million little deaths surround us
Letting go their parent bough,

The colour, drained from nature's cheeks,
Chased by spring's now broken vow.


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