" In the solitude of darkness when fear and worry consume me, when my yesterdays are naked before me, only then will I learn how to live my tomorrows."
This night is mysterious The cold wind is blowing beneath my face I can't create the perfect words right now To describe what I'm feeling at this very moment
I'm in my room alone holding a pen so I'm pretending to be doing something I've come up making this poem... Across the rivers and down the mountains Up the hills and over the wild plains There's a fine stick of ink Red, blue, black or pink Whichever color you want to pick You can choose whether thin or thick It helps us express And remove a little stress To whine a little less To press or not to press In this world of chaos and lost keys Every minute, every second Every move that I have questioned Every glimpse is like a potion I'm liking this pen in every proportion
When you start a conversation There's no need for negotiations They call it infatuation But I don't really need their opinions So I've come up writing all this things With a thin sheet of tree And this small magical piece You can do it whenever you are free And even seal it with a kiss
You can make your own story Or write about "Tita Cory" And make a letter to a friend Expressing that you do feel sorry!