My Poetic Chraka

Is full of ebullience,
hope,
compassion,
love.

My ability to write
about the dark sinister
thoughts of being
imprisoned by my own
heart.
There is none.

No, i cannot write
about the lingering thoughts
that taunt me, the ones
that are dying for me to
lose and give away my
last breath.

My poetic chraka
is full of ebullience,
hope, compassion, love.
Not cynicism, nor
pain, not even the anger
embering in my soul