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And it was at that age...Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
that fire
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
and open,
palpitating planations,
shadow perforated,
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesmal being,
drunk with the great starry
likeness, image of
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke free on the open sky.
Ask me how I am
Text me when you miss me
Ride your bike to my home
And don’t ever let me be alone

Tell me you adore me
Shower me in love
Don’t take me for granted
Be who we’ve always wanted

Kiss me with your words
Hug me when I’m sad
Wipe my tears away
And tell me there’s another way

But before you do all that
We must cross each others paths
Search our street
To make sure that we meet

Yet for the time being
Promise me that you’ll
And respect
The idea of me.
It flies amongst the stars.
Flashes for a moment.
Despite the left scars.
Holds a place close, yet far.

It carries the fallen.
From mistaken paths.
To reaches impossible.
And develops new plans.

It creates new countries.
Raises dead soldiers.
Stamps unsung heroes.
With a feeling of free.

Hear its silent sound.
Open up your eyes.
Place it in your heart.
Elevate from the ground.

It helps us climb.
Better than rope.
Do you see its shape?
It is hope.
When a tweet, no longer comes from a bird.
A message, no longer written in words.
A picture, determines your current worth.
A swipe, is not for payments against earns.

Your world, no longer restricted to earth.
Your voice, can control your universe.
Games, without company, a box.
Books, used to be written, forgot.

Love was in letters, not characters.
Eyes looked straight, not down.
Communication, in touch were sound.
Reactions, were not button frowns.

Food shared, not delivered.
Noise surrounded, not muted.
Hands shaken, not email awaken.
The world was claimed, but not hidden.

An automated world,
not an automated me.
i think i’m in love with you. You have a nice smile, no, nice is a ****** adjective. you have a smile like slow-twisting clouds above the line of dawn, it tears me apart in the best possible way. You make me unable to focus on anything on a continual basis. You

should come over. please?. Someday, i'll stop being so sad. i hope you realise it'll probably be because of you. You + me = well, we could merge escapist tendencies and get out of here, if you'd like.

If i saw you now i’d kiss you. no, i say that, but i’d probably just look at you and say nothing and wish i could say... everything, but all i want is to see you, i want to just smile at you, mainly i want to kiss you. i

would build an ocean, just

for you. If i could sing you any song it would be untitled, like all the rest of them.

We could curl up in blankets and ignore everything else, except one another’s eyes, under the stars.

sad little tom

(P.S. just try to be happy, ok?.)

*((P.P.S. try to realise how ******* wonderfully i feel about you though, ok? my tongue is a knot, but i really do. next time i see you, i'll tell you. promise. x))
the person this is for probably won't read it.
Time and risk caught up to you;
Gagged you into silence.
Chasing down the dragon was
Your favorite form of violence.

I saw its markings on your skin;
The gauntness of your eyes
Your searching fingers scratching down
To truth, as you breathed lies

China white won this round, love
You thought you'd always dance
The dragon chose another one
And turned its gaze askance.
Toss a penny my way
In spring we held hands  .  .  .
Now cold fingers for pockets,                                                                  
  .  .  .  Winter never leaves.
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