Rummaging in a box destined to add to the firewood, Nomo stumbled across something from a different time, when he started out with poetry; four poems he completed but didn't deem good enough back then. As he was reading, a "Strange." fell from his lips and after being done, Nomo kept them in his hands. Raising them to the front of his chest, a look, then lowering them again. "I'll send them in, too."
Snowstorm Calling
Cold are the days
remembering my life.
of missed chances, children I imagine to hug and teach
a few words.
The next day
isn’t gonna bring salvation.
I have left so many
behind.
I would do it again, but
cold are the days
so cold
Lost Misery
All those years
I have missed an adventure.
forever lost
Though … what is it all about, really?
What is it that I miss?
I realize
it’s still here
just the colors changed.
Looking Back
looking back
it doesn’t seem so sad
it’s just the life
of someone.
I happen to
reflect.
Chain Reaction
The first person lit a candle
and reflected between dancing shadows.
Over the course of time
I’ve found myself as part of a caravan.
And we meet a strange guard
Narrow words, tight sentences.
So we respond:
we have poems
we carry peace
it is okay, you don’t have to fight
anymore.
