this poem is journey
blaming (you)
&
blaming (me)
when our hearts are stones
we river with sands, instead of fish
when our hands are distant shores
our words are indifferent, instead of warm with care
we forget that we are not mud-carved jars
that remain unshaken by storms & turmoils
as waves rock back & forth
we crack, fall apart, feeling unbalanced
trying to swim in half-filled
or dry nothingness of land
then, think of us
as pages, empty yet inviting
as flowers, blooming in sleep
threading beads of happy & sad hours
& throwing any clumps of regrets
to murder of crows
too late or not
but as long as i'm walking
this poem is catharsis
forgiving (you)
& (hopefully)
forgiving (me)
