Leonell EchaNonets Of Pain
This is how a poet like me cries
he writes and writes till it feels right.
His tears becomes some sad words
as they drop from his heart
unto the pillow
papered or pad,
no holding
Just soft
Pain
Digging into oceans, melting ice
suddenly I start feeling fright
Would I move on or hold cords
linking pasts torn apart?
This means of willow
leaves me so sad
with nothing
but loft
pain.
