We sell our souls for money,
We trade our hearts for love,
Then chase our passions through the crowds
We grow impatient of —
We store up hopes in dreaming,
We scar ourselves in rue,
Then wonder at the senselessness,
Because, that’s what
We do
To share is human:
Days of silence and now these poems; where oh where are these thoughts coming from?
Oh, just me. I work a regular job, and store up thoughts for the weekends.