How many rhymes and lines,
Have met the same paper,
With the same pen,
Minds thoughts and designs,
Differ from poet to next,
Lyricists to artists,
Beginning a new quest,
Breaking and making,
Pain and love,
Experienced emotions lay down,
Written in rhythm,
Express to distress,
Tearing page after page,
Of flooding emotions,
Signature of similar,
Inked on white,
Within multiple occasions,
How many authors,
Write the same write?

Glimpse of hope
Through those washed eyes,
As I envisage us surfing
The roughest of tides,
A million waves crash,
Heavily into my chest,
Because I'm afraid
I'll drown in a sea
Of emotion because
You're the ocean,
And I'm just a stone.

There's everything beautiful within you,
Not a single flaw,
Begging for love,
but shutting it down,
There's truly everything lonely within you,
But it's such tragic irony.

As soon as I can hold you,
Once again,
I won't let go I swear,
We can't leave us behind,
Anymore,
We've watched clocks turn,
Glared as days burn,
Trying to catch the ashes,
Between my elusive fingertips.

The hardest of catch,
Wanting competition but scared,
Of not matching expectation,
As I'm battered and bruised,
Broken in two,
And who the hell am I?

As the blossoms bloom,
On this starry filled night,
Oil lamps flicker through streets,
For shambles lay bare scenic,
Streets fill in euphoric chaos
as this used to be the capital
Of a much more wonderful time.

Frolicking in streets,
Silhouettes follow in sync,
Linking arms and spinning,
Strong ale, bitter sweet cocktails,
Not a singular frown in sight.

Drunken ghost hunting,
Finding only the bottom,
Of an empty glass,
Ambience of undescribable wonders.

Even now on starry nights,
As I walk through the streets,
I still see silhouettes,
Of what once was,
York,
Is a magical place to be.