I still live with the belief I feel for the presence of beautiful and good people

The poems I sometimes read in magazines; It is so fancy and diligent, sometimes I am ashamed.

I tried to be otherwise for once, and even for a short time…

I am happy with my unhappiness, and I love to love a word, just a salute.

Why should I lick what I spit?

Yes, it has been a long time, but the climate inside me still doesn't go beyond spring .

And yes, I have no lie and I am peaceful with sadness.

I have an inexhaustible resource: how did I love you so much?

I have a treasure that is not exhausted and I write pages full of pages of a single word I found? Didn't I write you many times?

The climate inside me has been moving over and over again during the day, and love is smoking in my eyes, but never because he knows.

My soul and the child I killed, and my immortal temperament sometimes emulates sadness and suddenly jumped from my place and hit my head on the ceiling.

Not when I enter the bottom of the ground, but you know: But when the selfish winds despise me, I raise people and love in my eyes…

And when I say the point I contradicted, I call my mother:

’’ Come on, mother, tell me something nice! ’’

Or I close to my friend at the end of the phone ...

And that's what a thing holds me where I am and shakes it in such a way ...

You think; There is an earthquake and it comes back.

I leave the broken fault line of my heart and the way I get longer.

Then I yell like crazy and my head melts to the sky.

I acknowledged that I was different and you are a member of this, if you cannot be a foundation…

I can never explain these, though I tried it many times, but…

I have I can't say one by one.

I am protecting every sentence at night, I talk to the pen at night, and I start to whisper into the ear of my words and the readers waiting for me thanks to the strong bond I have established with my pen.

They say the world's nail came out.

I'm not on a nail on the wall.

However, my neighbors, who live on the other side of the wall, are numerous nails all day and night, and I still rule that good things can be:

And yes, as I claim:

I still live with the belief I feel for the existence of beautiful and good people, and I love it with my belief and thankfulness for their existence.

It is so obvious that even a sip of water is a means of drinking water, and now I collect the fruits of the persecution I have myself.

The rules I put myself as if it were not enough to be raised in a solid discipline…

Sometimes your loneliness in the military steps:

I walk and the ground is moaning.

Here, now the sky is crying.

Of course, the voice of my heart, my saint would have been nice if it wasn't for this love?

There is no way I pronounce it.

I would gladly and hope for myself and my Lord ...

I emulate myself again.

The stories are more than me.

And the sound of the secret and hope flowing from my covered life, all my writings and the voice of my heart…

Continuation?

Wait and see.

That's all for now.