In this world we always have a choice
But we need to listen carefully to hear the right voice
So we can choose the right one among all of the choice
That will lead us not to mourn but to rejoice.

Painting and singing isn't for me,
As well as dancing like a swaying tree,
Not an actress, not a performer, that's what I see,
I asked myself, what I really want to be?

As I isolate myself from the crowd,
I found her spilling something hidden in a shroud,
I saw her holding a thing that allows her to make some loud,
In this, should I be proud?

Well, the thing that I'm holding is a pen.

Holding it for the first time is like going back to my nursery,
Back from the basic, learning A-B-C and 1-2-3,
I thought that it would be easy,
But not until I made my first poetry.

It's like love--- no! An illegal drug that can make us addict,
'Coz starting on that day, my world revolves on it,
It seems that without writing any piece my day would not be complete,
It's like releasing something painful underneath.

As my pen continue to bleed all my word,
It slowly lightens my darkened world,
It gives hope to all of by broken dream,
With my pen, I will achieve them with a beam.

With my pen I can be whatever I wanted to be,
I can travel outside this world or become a detective which is impossible in reality,
I can make my broken dreams come true and live happily,
But not until my last poetry.

It hurts more than a break up,
Seeing my pen running out of ink--- wanted to stop,
But is it really my pen or it is just me who wants to give up?
Whatever, I just want to fill this empty cup.

I'm still praying to Him to keep my hope,
I'm still hoping for us--- I'm holding on,
I will keep on trying 'till my pen bleeds again continuously,
Until I'm able to write all my best poetry.




© nyrle