It's still in here,
somewhere,
I'm sure of it.
The heart I want to give you
is somewhere at the
bottom of the ocean,
or perhaps the
edge of the galaxy.
I know that I can find it,
again,
I just need time.

You never knew because you never had the time,
And when you let me talk,
You would never listen,
Perhaps it was my fault that I didn't speak louder,
But you should've been there for me

Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.

i can’t commit to anything
can i?

not people,
not plans,
not schedules,
nor times,
i can’t even do a daily write daily.

The flowers keep wilting,
For they know that you’ve gone.
They sing out their lonely, heartbroken song.

They long for your touch,
Attention,
And care,
Breathing your water,
They thirst for your air.

They live out the days,
In their milky white vase,
Murky water subsiding,
Reflecting your face.