That which is sewn in;
The one that takes away
A good night’s sleep…
That which cannot be ripped out,
Buried beneath crappy dumps
And left to rot…
That which remains not forgotten
And sprouts out with every whim
Is the mold
From which was the soul made.
It is the truth of the heart
A call that one cannot disregard
Without which breath turns hollow…
From which one cannot run and hide
Is the dream ingrained
It is the call beyond dream…
Vpoetry 