These are the real
Poets/writers
The ones with glasses and
Always taking pictures
In black/white

For you to be reading this
At this exact time
Is not an honor
It was meant to be.

What heart would whisper another
Sense will hardly learn; and
Wandering mind could cluster
Indefinite at dark forests in angu
Of sight and vicious earthly being

Let me not seek before my faith is
When the buds are trimmed for love
Not for unusual traits or heart wr
And not for solidarity to beg or r
Some debt; which my heart will dec

The truth in the midst of lies, th
Threat and stab; heart could never
The poor lies of filled wealth whi
In albatross of the world at will.
And to slip and bleed from a restf

There are sweetness in his blazing
Admiration of kind mind that winds
So, why halt? when the symphony
Of grasp still commence,
I can see the shadow line of where

I wish i was born in the old days,
Greatly about how they look, when
Work with knowledge that makes the
They all have many sense than one
I wish i was an endowed poet then,

A simple choice is a great certain
For her own sacred delight,
With love among all odds
And transparency among every refle
With death above usual peace,

Never forget
To
Do
Your own
Thing

why do you take years in craving
what can’t last?,
perhaps a little bit trust may be
that angry gravy eyes you stare wi
burst in horror!,