My fingers do not itch to write no more
the painful hands of distress at the peak of my shoulders.
I have forgotten to cry, now I hold a bolder, striking against the enemy,
untill they are piles of rocks or freshly made dunes, I will not stop retaliating.
I am now a mirror
but do not fear your judgement
because we are no much different, neither are we at accord.
Dancing to the cacophony of life
we are like interlaced finger of love that
was bound to break. or maybe stake a claim in this boundless valley of raging volcans.
Maybe we are an illusion that was brought to live. living life, not because we have a choice, but because we don't know it's worth.
Maybe we are the rusting cage of an astronomical illumination, or perhaps we should shatter to dust, because I am tired of the numerous things I think I am. Every freedom I sought is to be another man's Jailer.

©PerryDe'poet