LONG winter days
then City nights
Unplowed fields
full of snow
lit by millions of lights
Wearing tears from living
Wonderous painful life
Not sure what it’s suppose to be
Oh love if it’s not the world
then it must be me
A lover first for words
i believe in paragraphs of
discovering me; a lover’s thirst
for humanity —
the poet does not envy
does not boast
and is never proud
without a pencil we crumble
toward the ground____
the paper; a scroll of the soul
for all eternity.
:: 02.09.2022 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 