Errah is an educator, a writer, and a poet. He often sits at his desk to make thought-provoking poems.
The Cause Was the Past
A large case with grace, the place of my breathing space;
With an ace face, have a taste to embrace.
While the style of the smile is admired in fertile isles from miles;
His eyes fire and arise in the five piles of the divine height.
One night, without light, out of white bright, loss of sight;
There's a fight of the frightful knights; no rights, just spite.
The rainbow degrow and the big toe erode the meadow;
The show was full of crow shadows and bellows of drow.
There were zero heroes, though foes vetoed the inferno;
So, the volcano's flow and tornado's blow tow to glow and grow.
He rose from his pillow, seen by a sparrow over the window, full of sorrow;
The bro was solo and there's an arrow on his ego.
Sprawl to a tall wall and the two small balls had rainfall;
Install and recall false fault; pall to all calls and football.
The mind pined and blind, couldn't decide; whined and cried;
The kind child disinclined and dried like a rind died in the wild.
He asked for love and dove from above — Forgive and recov;
Sieve the blood of bugs, therefore, to live and become free of bereft.
"There is hope, even when your brain tells you there isn’t.”
— John Green
© 2022 Errah Caunca