A fear of The Fear. Unknown to me that I could be. Free of worries that have crowded me. I sat there praying for my safety. As the wind scraped my face and my body. While sitting on a machinery. That was said to be of no safety. In shocking view of my reality. I realized that Fear was just my imagery. It had no way of knowing my ability. And therefore I broke my dependency. Freedom replaced the Fear in me. The Motorbike Freed the whole of me.

Writing is to put words together. the measure of a good writer is in how well he can assemble these words to convey knowledge and thoughts in precise clarity. The Perfect Poet Award for Thursday Poets Rally Week 43. The Beacon of the Spirit. I Want To Be A Billionaire, So Friggin Bad. Subscribe to my Blog! Join 3 other followers.

In a forest with no shadows,. Next to a house without windows,. Sits an old woman without eyes,. Caressing with a hand without nails,. Over a forest made of one-dimensional trees,. Next to the crackling of the exterminated plains of metal,. Rising, from the horizon, rectangular clusters of liquid, boiling light,.

Holding on, sinking down, going round and around. Sorry, no posts matched your criteria. Get every new post delivered to your Inbox. Build a website with WordPress.