Hush, it's raining.
Heaven's cleaning the earth
with its gentle brush,
anew.

Going through my old notebook.
Page by page,
Line by line,
I found phrases I wrote for you —
Raw but true.
Some lines, which even today,
Brought me back to my rue.

My book was pointing towards
An unsung outcry,
Asking me questions — unsolved,
Poking me to answer: “The why?
Hey! Give it a try!”

I found some paragraphs — meaningless.
They have just lost their tenderness.
Stories of my loved adversaries,
Poems about my daunting memories.

They say my book is petrifying,
For it has some pages with moments —
Electrifying.
It still has some pages empty,
Yellow and old,
Stating and defining my dreams —
The stories that remained untold.

You lost things
that had names.

Dreams,
people,
parts of yourself
you'll never fully get back.

But you still open your chest
to the wind.
You still say yes.

And that-
that is holy.

The smallest achievement or success
Is enormous in my eyes;
"Fame" and "fortune" and "world renown"
Compose my coveted prize.
But I am young and still naive
And quick to seek applause;
I lack polish and experience
And am prideful without cause.
It will take years to hone
The words formed in my brain.
As I whet my pen I must remember
That without prudence, there is no gain.
So as I write this weary road,
I must proceed with care,
And if I am wise, I might reach the end
And find my glory there.

When I was fourteen I found a dog.
Once, she brightened my day.
A long time ago she played at my feet,
But now she's gone away.
With her floppy ears and her fluffy tail
That would wag as she gave me a kiss,
With all of the love she gave freely to me,
She will be sorely missed.