A thousand words so few in hand
my pen trembles mind at still,
a state of mind a way of life,
taking this life in my own hands
lost in my mind.
We have all become chasers of broken
words scattered along in the vast void
of our dreams.
On a lone old wooden bench I will be
waiting for that last inspiration,
each tired sunday morning I will be
waiting time will pass by,my last
stronghold my old imagination will
die memories will fade away like
the leaves of the trees on a winter
morning with no direction.
I will walk through life step by step,
I look back my steps vanish one by one
in a world so dark knowing nothing can
be salvaged only this will remain for
eternity.............
.........My speech,my poetry.........