Well it’s been seven years,
Fighting fire with firewood.
How could you begin to face
These ice cold tears
Of which drift upwards?

Just give it some time to waste.
Roll onto my bed
As the crew cycles through the night.
Unwilling adults never
Cease to amaze brick walls.

Let her come by some day
So friends can hear the doves better.
Nobody said this was okay,
But please know
At least I want you to stay
With us.

Melancholy.

   A pink rose.

Rain.

  Distant piano.

Loneliness.

  Cassette tapes.

  City nights.

   A cheap cigarette.

   Three white stripes.

    Couple of camera flashes.

    Wearing a face mask.

    A spontaneously special moment.

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We met at a beautiful park bench;
“Hello.” I said,
“It's really good to see you!”
“Hey.” she said.

“How are you?
How has your day been?
Did you have a good weekend?”
I asked.
“Yeah, I did." she answered.

“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yes, I'm fine.” she replied.
“Good.” I said.
There was silence for a moment.

“How are you?” She asked.
“I feel great.” I said.
“Good.” she said.

We went to buy a drink;
“What do you want?” I asked her.
She said “Just water.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yeah, I don't mind”

Ultimately, I was glad.
Meeting this girl
Brought…
Some reassurance
To last year’s me.

Nowadays, is this a world for poetry?
Anyway, I suppose there couldn’t be.
And this may seem like a promotion
But I assure you people
It feels more like slow motion.

If you were to write poetry,
Say now.
What would you write about,
And more importantly, how?
This audience of children
Surely cannot understand
They couldn’t possibly comprehend.

Well the reason I write
Is because my voice cannot sing
Nor rap or any other popular thing,
But back then it was great
To write a verse, a perfect stanza
For the Greek meaning of ‘poetry’
Is to merely create.
So I do ask this generation
My most important question;
Why wait?