It begins
within is strife
and then it ends
Is the meaning?
Because just as soon as it is Conceived
It is  Deceased
This road I walk
I look at both the beauties and the monstrosities of her
The people
The places
The interactions
The love
Beauty is Broken
Find perfection in what is not

And the stars refuse to shine
If you refuse to stay
Right beside them,
With all your beauty and light.

I'm awake again, looking in my solitude at the midnight sky once more.
There are no lights coming from above, but a canopy of thick grey clouds that keep the starlight away.

And again, you've awaken me
Though you never meant it
Though you'll never know.

Was I dreaming?
Or was I thinking?
Or just remembering?
It matters not, you were there again, inside my head.

It seems I think and dream so much of you that I have unwittingly carved your delicate face in the inside of my eyelids.

Well, that's bad news for me,
I thought I'd get my mind back,
That somehow I'd disenchant myself.

Now it seems that's not to happen,
Now it seems you've bewitched me for ever more.
Though you never meant it
Though you'll never know.

I want this to be as cathartic as possible,
I need all of you, or I need you out of my head.
I think I'll just go mad otherwise.
I need my mind, that's all I am,
And you've just invaded all its insides.

I don't blame you, and I never will
As anything that happens to me, falling in love is my own fault
Although your free spirit, your witty mouth and your butterfly wings did play a hand.

I wish I had come before your demise,
Before that faded blue prince of yours had stolen your heart.
We are but fate's marionettes, little creatures tumbling in the dark,
Loving one day at a time, dying one day at a time.
Arriving two minutes too late, just the same as an eternity too late.

I wish I could heal you, I wish I could take away all the pain,
I wish you would give me but one chance,
So I could show you the big heart of a seeker of light.

But this wishful thinking is lethal
My burning desire will stain my soul,
So I've decided, that you are to go.

You'll always be my moon far away,
You'll always be the one star astray.
You'll always be my my muse in the sky,
Those things and all I can't reach with my hand.

You put the time and the place
And I waited for ages,
That they will count as hours.

At least there was smoke
And my eyes.
And my pen.

I had the perfect plan
The perfect route, the perfect places
I traced the path, I thought of chats
I readied myself, I thought of jokes
I prepared and saddled my bird
And everything was in place.

I would have shown you where the squared ones dwell
I would have told you where the Laputians work
We would have crossed a jungle in rain
We would have gone through the lowest places to reach the highest
And we would have had a bird's sight
And a majestic sunset as the sun said goodnight
Just for us.

I would have taken you through beautiful deserts with exotic flowers,
We would had jumped off cliffs
And descended slowly

I would have taken you back to the noisy city,
And we would have taken refuge 'somewherelse'
A haven which is also a cafe
There I would had asked you the strangest questions,
I would have unveiled a little more of your deep mysteries
And I would have learnt you.

Everything was ready, all was in place,
Only you weren't there.

We who like poetry,
We who read these heartbreaking tidings.
We are quite the voyeurs:
Witnessing the silent struggle of our fellow poets,
While they wear their "heart on their sleeve".

While they open their heart and pour their suffering
Too honestly to be good,
Too ambiguously to be known,
Too blue to be shared,
But strong enough it can be felt.

It ain't easy to write of your own demise,
And yet you will only talk of these things to the blank page:
Who won't judge, nor bring advise.
Just a release, just a way to express ourselves, that staring page,
Expectant to be carved with our confessions, with our heart:
A love vampire.

And as a friend of mine says:
"Unrequited love is the best food for a poet's soul"
Yet it's bitter no end, yet it's saddening no end.
As a friend of mine says:
"Poets are faded blue"
Yet it's hard to lose all joy, be colorblind.
You don't write to feel good,
You write 'cause you feel bad.

And we who like poetry,
Seek in those lines ourselves,
We rejoice on finding there
A phrase or two that tell
That we're not alone
And that others
Suffer too.