January 23, 2014

MY SICKNESS

By EPRobles

CONFESSION for the heart
one who knows the pain
a sharp knife
— to the soul

All things I see and hear
whether touch or smell
is poetic
— to my ear

Life drives me maddingly so
the words slide off me tender
and into a skillet
— where they burn

Wish I do for a release
into a world from pain and fear
my soul mate come unto me
for I fear the time
— too late

:: 01-22-2014 ::

About EPRobles

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Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love... View all posts by EPRobles
This entry was posted on Thursday, January 23rd, 2014 at 4:26 am and tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , and posted in Death, Love, Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.

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