I march to my own tune.

Poem.

There is no simple description for this poem, it is understanding in itself.

Premediated and calculated actions are the hardest to forgive.

Learning to love.

How is the wrong in this world suppose to turn into right when there is nobody to teach it?

The older we get the more we appreciate loves worth.

It can ache to be alone, humans seek companionship.

A poem.

I did write this. So I can write, right?