He thought of her laugh
in the wet winters,
remembering what it felt like
to live in the warm summer.

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, best alone again:>

their tongues spoke in languages of dim black
not for the people, not for the universe, just for the humane lack
their mercuries slipped into a coma of grace
is it too much of an ask to grant a questioning face?
their secrets molded, intertwined, & folded
for the eyes to formulate the truth from the lie sorted
their breathes sent  beat to their hearts to syncopate that keeper
then feels out of their laces or not just them alone in the Ether
their dreams although vanished weren't a matter of none
for the hurt to be a double impressionist's helixed one
their souls craved for a carve of that humble form
so do they submit to rain & dance under the thundering storm?
cliché or not
somethings are left unsaid without a period dot
blunt or rude
better feel shame from faults than when ****
what does it mean, to be delicate's recipient ?
to be an exception to the head of a never lenient?
what does these ancient walls say?
if the colors of the face couldn't cover up before that end day?
a crime to deny them sensations
to get to know someone in six conversations

                                                                                    -------ravenfeels

Am I so?
Am I deaf to your wanderings?
Am I done with a forth, a problem to hold?
Am I come with your smile, to finish an idiot's thundering's?

Am I your lover?
Is and ain't, to ask a silly question
The tooth in the belly of the world
Press and see, if I can't learn another song of misery and blessing

Soul, and the defiance of a sulking fist, tomorrow
Is a realer lover, the talk of use and peradventure, to run
And run to nothing more, than a callous shine I borrow
When the call and curse of truer fate, is a wall to our life, only begun

Life with a resounding heat, in the eyes of an open bother
The lift and the still harking count, of who is a reason to find
A relationship with sour, and dare we trifle with a succumbing other
Peace in the stark and risen nature of you, the poise of a prettier time

There’s a little boy sitting on a stone
All alone
There’s a little girl hiding in a tree
Far from home
There’s an old lady telling
Stories of her past
There is no-one to hear her
Nobody near her
Each word may be her last
Her tears they fall like rain
Her body racked with pain
Still that little boy sits
On a stone
That little girl hides in a tree
I am here writing poems
On my own, safe at home
Thoughts take wings and grow
If thoughts are spoken
Can the spell be broken?
Will someone reap
Loving thoughts we sow
In our waking hours
Or in our sleep
These precious souls
To keep

I keep thinking if I let myself feel it fully it will eventually stop. Doesn’t it have to eventually stop?

Why is it that with every breakup since
I think of you
I cry at the loss of you