I am like a blind man
Describing the world
Its beauty, and its darkness
The turbid life, under calm waters
From behind closed eyes
My colors are the colors of a painter
Swirling all together
But my blacks, are those
Of someone much more quainter
A lady of such mystery
With an avid affliction for all the unknown
Like poetry, she is undefined brilliance
Which I have never seen, yet she has shown
A world, new to myself, whom is enjoying the view
From the center of this lady’s bedroom
LITTLE TALKS 
What you write are not just words etched on paper – they flow effortlessly, like a river. Each post a meander, or a change of direction, or a waterfall maybe. I let the current take me wherever it pleases, giving in willingly, to such beauty. It’s a breath of fresh air, sometimes it is air – so that I can breathe again.