 | The stench of a poem, I’ll never
show daylight, something pure,
poetic, artistic, but not
something to reveal now, we're
already a world gone wrong. No
more I need to encourage;
no more I need to stimulate
a mind who doesn’t see; what
I mean to convey. A blind
man following a siren’s song;
it’s a tragedy just waiting
to happen. And so you see
this poem of mine, will never
see daylight, but always remain
in the back of my mind, close to
the heart and as a fading
memory… Oh the power of an idea,
an image, a dream, a poem… |  |