An Orange - A Poem

Some entertain, but I follow your clay-like path.
Here I am, a warm brain loitering in the university of elixir.

Conversations of precisions, the recitation
of curtains, we
call an aquatic necklace.
Cinnamon and pure father,
which is a silent map of directions
three hundred, or too many to count, rejoiced
on a bed or in the warm land
directions of the leg, a calculation in your tails.
Halfway.
For river was rabid and morally positive.

- Oizys

{I love writing. I have been through so many phases in my life, but one thing that has remained constant is my love for writing. Well, another could be my dream to become a writer. No matter how mediocre, cringy, or banal my words can be, it has never made me give up. I would read more and try to write better. Some days, I fantasised about writing stories and novels. Some days, I would dream of publishing my poetry in magazines here and there and then compiling them into one. Some days, I would dream of becoming an unknown diarist whose diaries get published posthumusly. But words have been constant. It is true that most of these dreams are nowhere near becoming true, but it is not a crime to dream.}