Tags: poems


The Door

What is the difference, oh Lord,
Which of my clothes
I pick?
Which dented hope can I still afford,
To whom of those
I stick?

And all is vanity and sway:
Ecclesiastes saw
It well.
And who to whom shall thus repay
The opened door
Won't tell.

I hit the target on its edge
Now is a plus,
Not them.
The opened door is not a pledge
And here thus
I am.

11 February 2011


Steady, my knife,
All I want just to carve it.
I don't want any harm
I don't feel any pain
You will know in time
My sincere intention
Oh, my statue of late,
All that's thrown away.

16 November 2010