Do you remember the honeysuckle?
The way it smelled then, So sweet
The scent permeated the summer air
Down by the lake where we would meet
The sound of waves on the lake
Was the music we made love to
Sneaking away, you and I
To be together for a few
I can't help but to smile
When I see those yellow and white blooms
Do you remember the honeysuckle?
It reminds me of you

Under a jesters hat in the court of kings
is a dancing peasant before the queen
such fine robes of purple silk do I wear
fancy that.. you pretty thing.
Such splendid tea parties with the finest of ladies
conversing gaily of the weather
and other such nonsense
things I know not
What utter tripe
guttersnipe
ne'er-do-well
pouring tea
Such dainty things the tailor brings
twirling in such finery
while the little piglet powders it's nose
and calls herself pretty

So many times i died
not knowing how to be saved
a victim of my innocence
unknowing
unaware
no knight
no king
only dragons to slay
with my childlike hands
but a soul can be strong
when the need is just
surviving
until the next sun
and the truest of Men
will show their face
saving the entire world
for just that one

remember me?
I was the one who was always there
I was the light
even when reality casted darkness
remember me?
we were always inseperstble
yet somehow we have drifted so so far
remember me?
it hurts to know we used to be so close
we were always the strongest together
yet you never came back
you went away
you did not return
how selfish
for you to give your life to everyone else
just that easily

.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but
               unbound...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
     colours.
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of
               painters...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
          genres.
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...

The world wasn't made for lovers
It was made for those
Who smile in your face
And then stab you in the back
I don't see the satisfaction you get
From watching me bleed
You smile in my face
As my blood drips from your knife
Do you live to watch me die?
Is your hand so wicked
That you offer it to me
with hateful intentions?

You smile in my face
While you're killing me
You look into my eyes
Just to make sure the life is leaving them

One thing that matters the most to love is trust,
Height,colour,weight,and many other things don't really matter.
Everyone deserves to be loved,
Love yourself so you know the kind of love you deserve.
Never let anyone make you think twice about being loved because of what they make you think of yourself,
You're beautiful,handsome,someone somewhere deems you perfect.
Love is more of a verb than a noun,
Nothing like a metaphor,
More like a synonym.
Literally applicable.