A Door Into The Past

As I see and remember my past pieces;
which are the strings binding my past;
a sequence plays before my very eyes.
They never fail to remind me;
of all I had achieved.
And never fail to sadden me;
over all I have lost.

These words written in black & blue;
and red & green.
Remind me that this whole world;
simply is mean.
Though there are people, yet none for you;
only for themselves.

Therefore, this Door Into the Past;
I must close;
but should I? They are all the memories;
of my own prose.
Different though, am I, but can I;
bear part with all?

Thought I Could Write – Sonnet No.1

Thought I could write a novel;

could not, daft ideas, bore.

No problem, several kinds of prose;

do exist in literature, several I adore.

Thought I could write a story;

could not, again the same blank.

Then again, no problem, I can always

cross this river on another plank.

Thought I could write a poem;

again no, blank head, no words flow.

This time, problem, for what else;

can I write, nothing else I know?

Well, you ask what did I end up with now;

Can’t you see, can’t you see, what you’re reading now?