After 365 Days of Writing Poetry

emptiness floats,sunk in,



trapped in the web lines


of palest days


and restless nights.


above the cracked land


marched an army of frogs


pestings,wrestlings on the mud


over the tainted water


of the shallow pond.


twisting,bending my mind


to flow to the next level;


on curvature of cruelty to-self.


not the dreams of rain


could stop my heart


from mirroring the bursting,


bombings of rotating emotions;


that lurks in dark blowing wind


leaving each lashes


of my coal ,cold eyes


closed and stayed with the night


to give way the black pearls


rolled on my grayish cheek,


like rainwater marbles,bursting all day.






a year ago that was me.


i've danced to the given chance;


to use my pen against evening chills,


to melt the barb wires burried in my heart.






in flickers of speed


of complete revolution of days,


splinter wounds hurt still


and my writings are crap as ever.


still,i don't belong here.