In the turbulence of a Storm
My heart rests upon a Rock
In a place where the grass is long
Swaying  passively to a breeze
In a place where the earth is warm
Lit eternally by a furnace
In a place where a  stoic Rock
Submits to its desires for me
In a place where the frozen rain
Melts away in an instant
Dissolving the hovering myths of pain
To free my lonely heart yet again

This is a place for love to grow
Forever, together and more

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f

Was it an illusion?
Words that trigger an attraction
A reply that lays a connection

Was it an illusion?
A look that exposes a sensation
A whisper that defines an emotion

Was it an illusion?
A touch that pushes a button
A kiss that captures a moment

Is it an illusion?
To transform words into reality
To turn moments into eternity

It is an illusion
When words are lost in silence
When affection is met with fear
When All is subsumed in memories

Whilst memories may fade
The illusion remains
We hope for those moments again

Poets love the illusion
Though  Cynics judge us weak
We shall silence their mocking speak

Thank goodness for poets

Gentle is the heart that weeps
Mournful is the soul that yearns
Gorgeous is the memory that lingers
Joyful were the hands that held
You