In the depth of the night
Cloaked in silence, Words visit me
There is a strange sense of anticipation
in this hour of darkness.
I am blown away
by the idiosyncrasy of these metaphors
Like the fragrance of the morning mist
I embrace this fresh breeze
The verses within me take forms
Shining out of my words
The poetry in me is alive again
My individuality clefts open
I am the oblivion, I am the blaze
I am weak yet powerful
Under these new clouds of myth shattering
My joy is quick and short
What brilliance is my soul chasing?
A muse to enmesh my words with
Perhaps a cadence to write more
to satiate myself in marathons of poetry.
Like some great love that perishes with time
I listen myself, while I become a writer
I read ballads, written for myself
and not for a dime or a dream.