For Whom, I Write Letters | Poem

Are you sane to love a sickness?

Asked the woman who smiled in anger.

What she asked seems disturbed,

Yet, she said be in love, Shobo.


Why don’t I see a dessert of kindness?

The smiles, the kisses, the works, the treasure,

All feels empty this monster of death.


I wrote truth of hearts to the Sterling Queen,

And, all I feel is the lone journey,

I never asked.

Stop! Just stop!

Rest in gallows, nothing stays.


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