Make of it what you will. That is all I can ask.

A poem, by me, Timothy Lu.

I hear the same old sound
of painful groaning…

I hear the same old sound
of people groaning;
Same old sounds of cruel
death and mourning—-

Death can be so cold.

Listlessly the time drags on;
the heat of the sun’s inclement force
scorches the earth, sears the lawn,
with no compassion or remorse ….

A fictional poem of a couple.

There is no shame in naivity.

Waiting is always agony especially when you know not when the waiting will finally be over.

Seems more like wanking.