there is no truth anymore
to a lonely life
it is true
there is more to solitude sometimes
but who can tell that you are alive
without me?
who can tell that i speak of love
when you cannot love me?
love is not love
unless shared
otherwise it can simply be another tragedy
of car tires traveling
without any commitment at all
on the hold of the road
of skies dappled with stars
and yet so unfeeling
of arms too strong and
lips so warm
yet the hugs and kisses
have not found
solace?
These are poetic experiments. Man's quest for the poetic element never ceases. He is always caught in the eye of awe. He does not make the rules now. The rules change depending on the emotion that time and space feed him. He must see everything with his wide eyes gaping. The beginning of poetry too, like philosophy is wonder. Look and see. Do not stop wondering You are the poet. And everything is poetry. Wonder. Wander.
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