Little that you see around,
Is a part of what you see,
The rest you'll come t know
When you let it be.

The sweet and bitter,
The joys and jitters.
Is not all what it is.

What it is,
Is another thing,
Analyse that please...

I try to be poet
Everynight before I sleep.
I dive long into thoughts
But seldom write so deep.

My mind is a wretched pile,
With toppings of loose dust.
So often fall prey to feel
To anger, to fear, to lust.