"fare"
there, from the shelves
are the heaviest books
in pile
with chapters that ended
happy nor sad
and yet there i was
reading through pages
so as the rain was about to pour
the birds flew and winds blew
setting foot on the ground
meet me in the middle of crowd
it's the skies who cries
for us
look at me with those eyes
take my hand once more
then step back
and never turn a head
this is the fire
who would burn the pages i read
on my way home
alone in the streets
i paid the fare well
to go and leave
YOU ARE READING
Unsent Letters
PoetryA tear that couldn't drop from the eyes, A sound of a beating heart that couldn't speak. It was the messages that never reached anyone, nor entered someone's mind. 'Tis the letters they rest, in a book of poetry.
