Love Poetry Collections (SEASON 2)

7

Crest Fallen

In a mountain top,
As I'd step a feet and hop whenever I have to give credit to myself,
Whenever I ask for help,
Twisting my feet like an interlacing string.

Also my head that were settled in a murky state,
Of this tunnel-dream-like,
I am not yet tired,
Feels that I am wasting petty chances.

I am just out of the mind,
Felt dying when I'd fall into that suicide land,
I am in bottom never to top,
Yet here my sanity echoes wildly, much more to any grayish clouds up in a troubled sky.

Because I am already in love into the balmy air and serenity,
Still pose and eyes heavy lided, still in the thought of how-to-build my image again,
As I start another bargain...

Perhaps...All lost souls and death-like thunders I've gained,
But no, when pain rises and boils...

Mountain top is my land,
I am a brick,
Will never be a sand.