I once saw a very gloomy old man Whose smile weighed only a gram. I said, “If you tell me what’s wrong I’ll do what I can!” But he just sat there as cold as a clam.
He did not move, not once! Never did he decide to look. Just smoked out of his pipe Reading a dusty old book.
He kept getting older, and older: He now had long hair and a beard. The room felt colder, way colder: He finally looked up as he sneered. His image got lighter and lighter As his hair got whiter and brighter.
This sad man drew nearer, and nearer As I felt closer to him much dearer. The truth became clearer, way clearer That this old man – was me, Staring into a mirror.
Walking in mental fog, you become a swaying tree. In mistiness one becomes lonely like a blackbird. Hollyhocks would wait, till the sun comes out. December rain brings the gift― of sleet on lips. ————————————– Walking in mental fog, you
Confessional truth is not my aggressive ego, it is my fault. The resolution of my conflicts with time, the smell of the broken limbs, my head in hoisted fever, my eyes searching for a cloud. The ultimate otherness, of an
couples run naked then plunge into the vast sea laughter ensues… through the duration of the night a flock of birds with intense sounds In the distance the still silence then an old man appears gets into his boat and