I ate the thoughts of belief
upon a sunny morning; just
me and I, defined by hands
wringing doubt
I found the meaning of every
moment — dark; a love letter
of life never written and a
soul of white heat
It kept my tears neat
So, I ate the thoughts of belief
upon a sunny morning!
Just me and doubt.
:: – ::
a sense of doubt!
those bent smiles
of privileged nothing!
imitating life
when i buried them,
their faces frowned
but the beautiful song
of not knowing life!
I am too strong
for regretting
the battle won!
:: 02-17-2015 ::
“AND what of me?” asked fear.
“I have no thing that hugs nor kisses or desires me…”
Compassion stared then gently replied.
“But you are not real therefore of no concern.
When you realize this then shall you be set free.”
:: 01-29-2014 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 