(this poem is just a mouth for the fluctuations of my mental determination. The winds of anything have the power to move my strongest self)
Sometimes fierce for no cause
another fearing all they say
no fixed veins that run my blood
I'm the lost lights of a bygone day
These pots of clay that melt too often
grasses, grasses but no trees
like aimless stars that shine the sky
that dead life that moves with the breeze
this envelope with its address none
a pen that has a thousand writers
my stairs that have no destiny of own
I play my part in both the fighters
ideas outgrown by seeds of doubt
colors that washed away in rain
and this light that pierces me through
leaves my mind no joy, no pain
Sometimes fierce for no cause
another fearing all they say
no fixed veins that run my blood
I'm the lost lights of a bygone day
These pots of clay that melt too often
grasses, grasses but no trees
like aimless stars that shine the sky
that dead life that moves with the breeze
this envelope with its address none
a pen that has a thousand writers
my stairs that have no destiny of own
I play my part in both the fighters
ideas outgrown by seeds of doubt
colors that washed away in rain
and this light that pierces me through
leaves my mind no joy, no pain
