The mind is a sculptor
To this day I have no answers
To the question of why I was born.
Are I sure I want to live this life?
No, Should I lose my shadows?
People buy happiness for a price;
But,I don’t have that many dollars.
They enjoy the time with fun;
I hate life with tears in my eyes.
For fireflies that have passed away,
I write tearful tribute poems.
Like unappreciated spiders,
My mind also became a child.
This life is fun for some people;
But, the battlefield only for me.
I know what pains are like in life,
So, I stopped shedding tears.
Not knowing that life is a prison,
Every man asks the Lord for wings.
The novel The Man by the Lord
Each page is full of some twists.
My mind is like a lifeless toy,
Withstands any kind of injury.
Because felt the pain heartily,
I hesitate to pluck the flowers.
What we think is a satisfying life,
Makes man fight to a certain border.
The smile told by a friend in tears;
That’s the luxurious life of others.
What man refuses to realize in life;
That is where the peace is hidden.
My thoughts of missing an island.
Sharp adopts the edge of thorns.
Mental library for storing silences,
Built by the ideology of loneliness.
Like thoughts that the mind loves,
Every man’s life is sculpted by time.