Endless field of words,
A sea of idioms,
A star-lit sky of stories,
Unhinged and unchanged by time....
Often more than not you go back,
to see whether the wound has completely healed,
Whether the words you had misspelled anonymously,
can no longer hurt,
You're surprised not by the changing times and tide,
but how static your words are,
how they've seemed to make a home there,
A simple moment of trying to re-write,
The simple idiotic mind that you were in when you wrote it,
you hid it,
not wanting others to find out,
why hide in cyberspace?
If words could hurt,
mine would kill,
yours could just kill....
a reminder of the past that haunts us,
the past that might kill me,
So i lay,
looking at my own tombstone,
engraved on another mans words,
but on the stone of my death,
the stories you wrote,
is my ending,
so let me hide mine,
in my own way of forever unknown,
backing from the throne that was once mine.
Because your final words,
were my cyberspace tombstone.
p/s - Okay.. for literature enthusiasts!!! I challenge all of you.. what does this poem mean????? hahahahhaha
and p/s - Couldnt find the picture for this post... a tombstone seems so gloomy