An ancient shopping bag in hand
A nest of creatures in straw hair...

You took my breath away
And held it in your hand...

Object of my affection
Th rusted love's direction...

You cant know the countless times
These feeble hands carried my heavy head...

As i embark upon the feat
Of creating my one hundreth poem...

Tears stream down my face
Their toxicity in hand...

Through the tears that now stream down
Turning the delicate lace of my saddened soul...

A figure on a wall
The pious mother of God...

Nobody would believe
That my wrist does bleed...

My tears are as futile
As the raging bull...

Sob echoes silence
Dumb existence agape...

When the world is failing to flourish
Ask yourself what you would do...