In the state of remorse,
the howls shatter
glasses of nightly silences,
the white floating sphere
conjures the dead,
the living and
all things existing
in between,
near the window,
my breath now sighs my restlessness
and imprints it on the mirrors
of existence,
the dearth of materialism within,
tickles the soul
into a mocking laugh
that echoes in corners of sleeping valley,
maybe that is what,
requiem for a dream is,
and maybe that is why,
the wolves howl in moonlight.
Our Mind is a Graveyard,
buried are the memories there
soul is the wandering ghost
that dig the dead memories out
some memories are bright
that bring the early dawn
they heal the soul
but some memories rage storms
cast a dark spell
over the soul.
It’s up to us keep digging
or throw the keys
of the graveyard and
let it wander
forever.
Some women are magic,
like untamed wild fire,
they creep slowly,
burn you bit by bit,
till there is no turning back,
this madness is an impasse,
This madness is love.
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The Mist is all I could see
Strange it may see,it seems on a killing spree
Thick white disappearing with no ends,
cold,unfriendly like omen,
they say it takes you and gives an easy death,
without pain and sorrow,without regret,
I died a long ago but still have the pain,
Me and mist are friends now,unseperable we disappear.
Writings to Heaven 