A lamp, an ink, a feather
Sometimes accompanied by a foolish moth
Even late at night you penned your thoughts
At least that's how back then it worked.
You struggled for the right words
Racked your brain for the proper thoughts
And like the persistent courageous moth
You submerged yourself to your made up world.
Drafts, scratch crumbled papers
Time passed but never surrender
That dream to express your masterpiece
Like fire, it keep you burning
For the next generation, it keep you going
One day, someday...
Even when your name's not remembered
A part of your soul will always remain
Always to be talked about, never forgotten.
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April, 2015
YOU ARE READING
GUST OF THOUGHTS
PoetryThis is a compilation of random, stuff-about-life kind of poems.
