I can continue writing in.
Sounding out a life of feelings,
expressing them through poetry and
leaving them at doorways for people to
pick up and read.
Truths are told and laid out, never to
be released as emotions tell their
stories in bluened crystal tears of
bereavement.
Sololy straying down avenues of every
day countless escapades, taking all the
empty kegs of knowledge and depositing
them at ends of hallways.
Teaching people to respect others, even
if they don’t like their appearances.
Talking privately in backyard conversations,
telling all sorts of jealousy and gossip.
Riddling others with their derelict remarks
and ending all types of superior attitudes.
Culminating into future endings of etudal
measures.