I’m memorizing my life
at 63,
and I feel pretty comfortable
in my faded jeans.
and I wonder why
I care about that this moment.
I’m trying to figure out
not obvious
what is the manner
of my life?
What lay ahead
is probably
my greatest curiosity.
And I wonder why no one cares.
I’m afraid of my own shadow
just putting words together
on paper.
Seems seldom
we evolve into
the world around us.
Don’t wish to implode
but it is confining
in. a suitable term.
I haven’t a clue what I am saying,
and it is true,
and when do we ever really know,
when we look at the next guy,
glance at the next glass
when do we ever know.
why we wonder where
when everything is
settling around us.
Why wish.
What will he wear
he thought
she of a lovely nature
his wanting her love
his wishing only love
would chance speak
to lost soul
having landed,
quiet to the world
only asking
forgiveness.
And there lay the words
crafted with a chosen
accentuate favor.
You figure it out.
Why does the soul
play with fancy,
like elegance at the ball.
Matters the beginning,
the remastered edit
of what matters now.
Each measure
of our lives
seems matters.
 | a quiet man on Haiku Love |
 | Yernasia Quorelios on Haiku Love |
| a quiet man on I Took A Walk |
 | Priti on I Took A Walk |
| Priti on I Took A Walk |
Turning trauma into triumph since 1981.
Sometimes writing poems let's me forget about the huge sums of debt I'm accumulating while at college
"I feel the rush of your love through my entirety and I know in this very moment of my existence this is where I belong" - The Creative Chic
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Concerning All Types Of Relationships
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