Letter to you!


I need you tonight! Not for your body, no offense please I love your body but tonight I need you in a different way. I need you to listen to my silent speech. I need you to hold me tight and tell me everything will be alright. I would love to here that you will be there for me when ever I fall. I need you to pick me up again. I need you to wipe my tears away and make me laugh. I need a rose to lighten up my room…. And after all I just need your attention.

Is it to much?!


Note to self!





And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind...

That whisper of a second
right before the alarm
speckled the dozen eggs
inside their cozy nest.

That sliver of time
right before the alarm
gave birth to this,
premature and beautiful.

That stale morsel of a moment
right before the alarm
was the cheese that got away
from the rat’s clutches.

That watchful eye
right before the alarm
turned to sapphire
as tired waves crashed.

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I blame you!


All mornings are bad, but some feel just like hell, kind of the worst thing you can get. And when I wake up I think it’s just a lack of sleep or the coldness you feel when you get out of your blancet. But no, now that I am all clear minded it was all my unconscience thinking of you all night long and hiding from me dreams I languish for. And this is it, when a day starts like this, what is it to expect!

The Mystery Bones


Here I am, abundantly flawed with pocks and scars, yet renewed once again.



I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape — the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show.
~Andrew Wyeth, artist

How endlessly beautiful is woodland in winter!  Today there is a thin mist; just enough to make a background of tender blue mystery three hundred yards away, and to show any defect in the grouping of the near trees.
~ Gertrude Jekyll, British horticulturalist

There is a stumbling reluctance transitioning from a month of advent expectancy to three months of winter dormancy.  Inevitably there is let-down: the watching and waiting is not over after all.  There is profound loneliness in knowing the story continues, hidden from view.

We have been stripped naked as the bare trees right now; our bones, like the trees of the landscape, raising up broken branches and healed fractures of…

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My heart is gone
spirit never born
my spine not there
my breath never here.
I’m left alone
me and ego on our own
it eats me bit by bit
the air where people talk
is simply, purely bullshit.

© Agron Bajraktari


“If pain does not die
we shall make it poetry.”
—Juan Antonio Villacañas