With a heritage of broken heart
I watch you...

With the force of beauty
the waters sparkled as the moonlight bounced on...

I am,
but a mere mortal...

Life thread,
a flow of voices...

Oh, my heart,
truth does hurt...

Should I write or sing,
the melancholy of my days...

Her eyes remain glued to her scruffy shoes,
As she roams aimlessly around the streets of...

The south winds blow to the west
hoping to find that what man has yet to destroy...

Oh Lord,
You did create me in your own resemblance...

I have a dream,
that one day, my poem will be nominated...

Annoying and frustrating
when it's hard in your mind to keep narrating...

Sorry mother,
I have to disappoint you...