I had my doubts, I have my doubt, for the truth of everything.
Fail to believe, and struggling to.
It must be beautiful , to be with a poet, who has a beautiful and exquisite mind and still luckily blessed with a capability to present it on paper or in breeze.
Tranquil, fuss-free, steadfast , and boiling ,
love, live as it's meant to be.
But is this meant to be?
I only know I'd love it to be.
Yet I'm too doubtful to see it in a way that'll set me free.
The ages seem often disagree, and degrade these nowadays Greats into weeds.
Mass tastes shaped and infected by the we.
So unmercifully hampered them to be in glee.
When ages change and them poor thing fall into history,
After follows the swirling drowning massive worship.
Peace at last, last, in peace.
HD
