Crossroad 

Not every poem was written for poetry.Not every rain drop that touches the skin can be felt.

Not every word spoken is heard.

Not every painted picture began with a paintbrush. 

Not every song holds music.

Not every freedom offers liberty.

Not every sentence ends the way it should.

Nothing is as it should be but all things have a silent beginning and end loudly

yet unheard.

All of you 

All of life,

all begins at 

a crossroad.

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12 thoughts on “Crossroad 

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