Those awful stains. You’ve tried scrubbing them out, soaking them out, but nothing seems to work. We’re not talking stubborn laundry.

Nothing erases the stains of time.

The stains of time go on forever.

This is a dark poem from a dark moment of mine.

Hate can be as passionate as love.

Poem.

Lies, like mustard stains, don’t come out.

Finding your purpose in life, is a long process that in the end will soothe your mind. No one really knows what it is, only that their heart is yearning for those answers.

Every person will die one day. We never know when that day will arrive. The death window is always there, looking in one us.

I wrote this because I was feeling deep. I was Thinking of windows of a Church when writing this. Enjoy!!! (If you are wondering why I always capitalize every word in all my poems, its because its my style of writing poems.)