I promised him, I won't Write a Poem again...
It's been more than a month now
Yet I have written a million on my heart
A million on my mind, my soul, in between conversation, in pieces, in whole...
I have written them time and again, never to be read, never to be heard, never to be told
For I kept a promise I dearly hold,
Never to write a poem again, unless I am told
It's been more than a month now
Yet I have written a million on my heart
A million on my mind, my soul, in between conversation, in pieces, in whole...
I have written them time and again, never to be read, never to be heard, never to be told
For I kept a promise I dearly hold,
Never to write a poem again, unless I am told
Oh, the pictures can't describe what I feel,
Where are the metaphors? I am done with the reel.
Where are the words? For you can't read my mind.
Where are the innuendos or the shy gestures from the divine?
Where are the metaphors? I am done with the reel.
Where are the words? For you can't read my mind.
Where are the innuendos or the shy gestures from the divine?
Oh, how can I be myself if I don't pause to think, to write.
To experience is heaven, but no more poems is a sacrilegious crime
I break the promise today, to unveil another one
No more poems on Facebook, but many more on the leaves of my mind...
To experience is heaven, but no more poems is a sacrilegious crime
I break the promise today, to unveil another one
No more poems on Facebook, but many more on the leaves of my mind...
This post first appeared on Selling As For Sale By Owner Is Beneficial, please read the originial post: here
