What’s there to say when all has been said?
There’s always more to write till you’re dead
Endless is the expression of a human in paper
They ask you to
Hidden Truth
Refine
How do I feel? What a question to ask,
Like taking a job, not knowing the task
It remains a hidden mystery within
A straight line made out of a
Pen and Ink
My pen, burning with words, ink.
Ideas go into my mind then sink.
If you’re a poet, then write and just write,
Until your fingers blacken, like frost-bite!
Train To Rome
Wonderful day with a breeze, not so cold
With a scent of a new Spring, not the old
I board the subway to a destination ahead
Once again I fall
Splash
Close your eyes, and slowly drift into an abyss
One that lies within the mind then listen to this
Focus on God and His presence in your path
A glimpse