I will not write a poem. Unless the poem scribbles itself, I stubbornly stand for the prose unleashed from the uncried tears of a child, unborn yet ready to exist. A child who sees injustice, who fails to understand the lies unless a story’s on the stage, a different one than the reality of life.
Swimming wings above the restlessness of life through waves that white become flipping the wind of hope to change the world in peace I’m hunting for the unbroken love beneath all waves of life, the flickering of light which sings a song the sea is sending to the seat of skies. Look now into