Hope is a poison I drink When I need to drownThe sorrow of my sins…..
Hope is a poison I drink When I need to drownThe sorrow of my sins…..
(Originally written some 19 years ago, I guess I’m still writing it…)
So tired
and sleepless
Hours away
from home
Watching the world
run silent
In bridges that burn
If it was a plan to challenge life
To give him everything it got
He succeeded
If it was a plan to drink life
Good to the last drop
He did it
This happened the other day. Thanks to Team Manila.
It’s nice to know that his writing processes are similar to mine. About how inspiration takes over and how rewarding is the result. The only difference is that his appeals to a wider audience. That may just be purely incidental. I wish.
Why do we write? Why do we do it? For me, it has always been a tool for acceptance as a receiver or transmitter. I’ve always found something about the outside world hard to understand, relate and adhere to. Especially if things are shoved within a pace of one’s life without explanation. Writing is like a tree branch reaching out to the sky while the roots(our mind) is reaching deep into the earth.