Chasing perfection To get satisfaction I am playing with rhyme Not having a dime. It's a kind of infection This poetic affection. I am scratcing a line Mixing water with wine. Constant threat of starvation
I read and These aren't simply words but Someone's unprotected soul, Which is breaking through the mist Of time and distance. I read and I see one's face and Feel one's presence. Perhaps, I even can become
So many people don't think beyond the day, And perhaps, they're absolutely right. Why ponder if you can enjoy the moment, Gliding smoothly over the pond of life? Maybe, they are right and I am wrong,