Through the eyes of a stranger,
I walk the crowded streets,
My thoughts hidden behind
A façade of indifference.
Always writing under breath
Each step the rhythm of a song

I listen for the murmurs,
The stories left half-told,
And with borrowed breath,
I weave their words into verse,
A silent chronicler,
Of lives intertwined.

Beneath the surface of each face,
A universe of fe...

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There is always a poem after this one; 
the understudy to today's centre stage: 

This poem however, is never unimportant, 
it is as individual as the poem that follows; 
many written poems have unwritten forbears- 
each poem is breathed and lived; rarely spoken. 

The panorama of this poem is found in one place – 
the window of its reader's imagination; 
so each poem is the beginning po...

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