Bending down upon his knees Thoughts whirl around his brain, He mumbles words of remorse For that which caused such pain; Like the Sword of Damocles Hanging above his head
A wisp of blue Morning mist Caresses the mirrored lake As a pale yellow sun Slowly filters through; Two Mute Swans Sail effortlessly by In stately splendour. A rivulet trickles
My pen sleeps, Each impulse Is lost In the vas labyrinth Of Thought. The waiting page Remains blank Until… I look into her eyes… I feel her smile… I hear her heart…
Appearances can be deceptive, And to the superficial gaze The outside seems dull and grey Plain looking in many ways, Yet, when a crack causes Water to seep slowly through,