Deep inside,
The darkest place...
Seeds that sprout and fly in green green gardens
Upheld in hope by summers breeze...
A book not written
Will never be the same thing...
You don't know the sleuth
you must've hidden your wrongs from...
Life is but the fleeting dream of a passing...
death is as ephemeral as the sun...
Morning has broken
There's no afternoon...
Cigar smoke drifts across the room
and cradles the aroma of fresh espresso...
Once again we make preparations for
an atypical situation...
the sunrise
brought colours...
I write so that I may live;
live beyond the smothering cocoon...
Fall is moving in
a new season begins...
The night is made
for dreaming...