If My Words be Poetry
My Hards burns as the pen touches the paper.
My mind races on all the things that i could possibly say.
I feel weak in the art of the pen.
As the words are sought I am stumped.
Maybe I am not patient enough.
Always Questioning...
I Think! Atleast, I Think…
I may think Beyond the scopes of mySelf at times,
But my Mind is Strong.
It is the mind that is Powerful.
It is the soul that is Guiding.
It is the Body That LiVES it.
I struggle with the art of Thought Day and Night
Always and forever in my mind Trying to understand
Figure out, and apply to LiFE.
Why do I exist -purposed to be, or do I just Exist?
My Head Hurts
I turmoil in Thought day and Night!
Only taking break to discuss what’s on my mind,
only to curse myself with newer and fresher Ideas.
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