Flow

Living with an unnamed rage
That has barely faded with Time.
Closing all the doors to keep the stains on a single page,
Blotching the beginnings of a humble rhyme.

The seasons fly faster than eye’s grasp can reach,
Spring blooms to Summer fevers,
Burning into Autumn’s shed and Winter’s chill.
At the core loudly echoes sorrow’s thrill.

There’s Nothing Else I Can Do

These days I’ve been holding on.
Often slip-sliding, fiercely denying,
Crying, desperately trying
Not to drown ‘neath a river of scorn.

Blanks fill the winded gaps in me,
No better from the white glare of nothingness.
Mundane actions and reactions that I constantly see
Gives me handfuls of sand in the shadows and darkness.

The days trudge forward, one step at a time.
But all i can do is to walk with it. One step at a time.