I’m a soft breeze on a tranquil morning,

where sun rays mimic my poetic syllables

Yet, I’m just a fragment of the universe

gravitating into the dark 

where I’m supposed to shine bright,

between a thousand burning stars.

I’m the soft curves of a river bend,

carrying broken verses to you.

a boulevard of broken dreamcatchers

swirling and drifting in the wind

with no sense of direction.

dear poetry, I’m a wasteland

where my poetic dreams silently grieve,

as I ebb away with the tides of time,

carrying in my hands,  

a dusty book of unsung poems.

for, as I pen down these bleeding verses

I feel the burn of tears as they seep,

the weight of the passing years,

and unfulfilled dreams weigh me down 

to the bottom of this ocean of life.

dear poetry, my heart is a vessel 

that aches to be filled, 

desperate as we are, to be whole,

as pieces of us meander like autumn leaves

in the wind, trying to escape

death’s pending grip.