The Writer
He don't know where he's good at,
He is just following the wave.
No compromise, no ifs, no buts;
Until he found himself alone in a cave.
That cave was full of words;
He arranged and jumbled it, making his happiness.
He played with it, fulfilling his emptiness;
Free, like one of those birds.
His mind was lost in reality,
His eyes was amazed like travelling in fantasy.
His story was tragic
But with the words, he was like living in magic.
He created something he really like to do,
Slowly, perfectly he knew.
Word by word, paragraph by paragraph,
He's giving his best shot, then reminisced it, like a photograph.
He then went back to the real world,
It was lonely, kinda blurred.
But unlike following again the wave,
He found himself coming back to that cave.
YOU ARE READING
Into the Deep
PoetryLet this book submerge you with heartaches, drown you with traces of the past, flood you with self-wonders, wash you with waves of healing, immerse you with romance, and fill you up with colors, but only if you dive into this ocean of poetry and le...
