Most of my
friends are going to bed,
They are
calling it a night…
My mind
comes alive and rambles;
In the
absence of light, I write.
I try to
match my childhood days,
Into reasons
for who I am…
Each memory
is a puzzle piece,
Linking my
now, to way back then.
Most of the
memory pieces,
Don’t fit
into my theme of sad…
Every time I
finish the puzzle,
The reality
wasn’t so bad.
The weight
of horrible memories,
Could not
outweigh my dreams…
Life’s like
a magical tailor,
Sewing happiness
in the seams.
I no longer
feel like I’m naked,
Posing now
as a well-dressed man…
Even without any formal attire…
I am proud
of who I am.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.