There’s A Cone

There Is A Cone Who Lost Himself

He lost his friends. He is far away from home.
No one picks him up. No one answers the phone.
He is lying down there. “Life is unfair”, crying he is.

He is reaching out. His throat screams sounds.
No one found him. He found himself
stuck in middle of nowhere. “Hell or Heaven?”, question he shares.

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Chiều

Một buổi chiều vàng,
nắng trên hiên nhà nàng,
nhảy nhót rộn ràng
vẫn như ngày tháng cũ.

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We Got Time

I wrote the following poem a long time ago, during my time of depression. Things have changed since then. Anyway, how does this piece come up to the surface after all the time? When I was cleaning my room, I found the verses on a crumpled note. I think this was a ‘kinda’ OK poem so I want to share with y’all.

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