not now..

closed eyes pray for words
those words, able to express
that expression too difficult to hide,
for what is hidden has a meaning
meaning only one can understand
an understanding makes Him supreme, an apart
So when they ask what's there for me?
and i show them words, asking
"do they mean anything to you,
do they touch you..?
do you think they are for you?"
though they admire they deny the fact, asking
"what it holds for you, the poet or the poetry?"
they can't see through my eyes, in my eyes
i breathe words made of gold
there's no need to know they're for me,
just enough or more
a heart simply knows the love it was in search
shines ever brightly shows divinity or cure
imbibed without asking,
"it's for me? are you sure..?"
hardest past is not remembering
forgetting seems impossible now,
time made possible then somehow
but i know, not now..