Sometimes I feel like tiny man with only almost dreams, like tea kettle on low, with only half the steam. Where is the air, to make sharp calling sound of whistle? Dreams once made of marble, now come cracked and brittle. What say I to all the friends who believed so dear, that my feet … More Again

Coming True

The ground has been placed back under my feet, during eye of tempered storm where peace and pain meet, to merge together as battle scars of long lost brothers, who fought the war at different ends, but made it out together. Languid leaves laying lonely still, to become soil of earth of which we till; … More Coming True