Your breathing is synonymous with the sound of rain
The 2 AM bus purrs through a sleeping street
The driver longs for home and carefree days

Under a great oak wood by our cliff
sunset rays pierce through
rainbow chuff and widespread arms
and spinning bare feet on damp grass

I direly miss
rolling around
playing with my cat
sleeping at dawn
getting up after dark

The ashes of the past
cover me pale from head to toe
I don't belong here
in renditions of times ago

How does one find the rhythm to write
How does he with the ink pen define
Emptiness so sudden and still rhyme?

I forgot tenth-grade poetry class
My certificate will gather dust
And I will author a tale of heart

Stanzas, lines and rhymes: these I know well
But inside I don't want to reflect
I want to bleed on the page till it soaks red

So how does one find the rhythm of life
How does he make it all rhyme
And still recover his long lost smile?