The holes we create within our lives Whilst struggling with all the lies A patchwork of building blocks That sometimes make us have to stop And take into our own account Perhaps with help we can surmount Though fear we may at losing self We must put our pride upon the shelf And know sometimes these thoughts Are things that should at times be naught For though our minds may be cracked It is fruitless to look back
I'm merely a wanderer, seeking to set roots and call somewhere home, It's rather tiresome to be at the whims of the wind. So, for now at least, DC is home-base for me. Always hoped to one day be a published writer/poet, but I fear this art is a dying one. If I must be one of the last standard-bearers of it, then I would call myself lucky.
BROKEN GLASS Standing here in front of me Are many pieces before me Looking down all I see Are different colored pieces Of what was me Broken, shattered and scattered Use to resemble me The glass I see before me
A shimmer of light in the darkness of my thoughts, the rare moment that the grey skies clear away and I see my surroundings exactly how I should, these briefs moments serve as a testament for my survival, Bitter and