Poem

little runaway

what time is it? its ticking, right? but why does it matter?
each day, every hours, every seconds..all the same

hello, is anybody there? who is it that you’re looking for?
for they’re all the same

time…people…passing by
only one truth remains. you are all alone

why is it matter? love…hate…despair..
why is it matter at all?

i just wanna be pure. white without justified
clear between the mist. a little faith and honesty

and there under the autumn leaves, sitting nicely warm and all in hands
between the books, papers & ink. wooden table & harmony

my simple dreambeing at beautiful peace in the place where i belong
being exist in a simple nothingness

If only we can take a break from society without being Chris of  ‘Into the Wild’ or Max of  ‘Where The Wild Things Are’, I would like to be where the leaves are…somehow…

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