Roses are red,
Violent, sharp,
With love and life,
Music of a harp.

Roses have thorns,
Making hearts bleed,
Stealing their dreams,
Of ever being freed.

Roses have petals,
Soft as a smile,
Falling down slowly,
As they gather in a pile.

Roses help people,
Trying to win hearts,
But why do we use them,
We'll just get torn apart.

Roses are danger,
But are used to propose,
So many faces,
Of a single rose.

I'm a writer,
Of the night,
Shying away,
From bright light.

I work at my best,
When no one's around,
So I can write,
In peace, no sound.

This may seem odd,
And it is, really,
But I like to write,
And often, ideally.

But that's not how it goes,
I can't write every day,
Sometimes there's no spark,
And it won't go my way.

But when I get going,
I will not go to bed,
As the night is my ally,
A mate, a good friend.

I prefer the darkness,
It gives me better sight,
This doesn't make sense, but,
I'm a writer of the night.

A word can have,
Such interpretation,
And the word sinking,
Exceeds expectation.

It can be joyful,
Sinking into love,
Or sinking into sadness,
And sinking from above.

Sinking can be a ship,
With memories aboard,
But when this ship sinks,
They're forgotten and ignored.

Sinking can be anger,
Or sinking with fear,
Hiding away,
From those we hold dear.

Sinking, what a word,
But I can't help and think,
What if I'm waiting,
And am destined to sink?

A lost love is,
A loosened grip,
A stumble, a fall,
A slip, or a trip.

A lost love is,
A tear down your cheek,
A heart so bland,
A soul so bleak.

A lost love is,
A downcast day,
A maze of misery,
A wall hiding the way,

A lost love is,
Though unwanted, there,
And for it's arrival,
We can never prepare.

I'm crazy,
I'm weird,
I'm whack,
I'm feared.

Unnoticed,
But seen,
Invisible,
I've been.

I get these looks,
Though, what do they mean,
I haven't a clue,
But they're rather obscene.

I am an attraction,
That wasn't meant to be,
I've learned that I,
Just shouldn't be me.

"I posted a poem,
So don't scroll past,
Read, like, but please,
Make it fast."

"I'm yearning for approval,
The attention of you,
Just write a nice comment,
What more am I to do?"

I've gone through the effort,
But don't give me my fame,
Because asking for your love,
Just isn't the same.

"Life is like riding a bicycle,
To keep your balance you must keep moving."

This was said by Einstein,
A man of talents, many,
Who would share his thoughts,
For much less than a penny.

He did have a point,
Life simply goes on,
It needs to be savored,
Before a chance is gone.

"It is as easy,
As riding a bike."
But life is harder,
Than we'd like.

It requires skill,
Focus and time,
And sometimes life,
Doesn't go by design.

Sometimes it feels like,
Make-believe, pretend,
But it is still life,
Until the very end.