The poetry is not a tale
When you fill a life within,
It breaths inside, i feel
It shouts inside, i weep
It breaks inside, i seek
Words that still alive,
in the lines fitted scars
That deeds filled with pain
All the stories whitted in rain.
Her poetry writes you knitted in sane.
Reads you load In the nights,
Her findings for you all everywhere,
I am in pain, the names she roars.
You was not there, her lonely shadows