No matter when
   I shut my eyes
I dream
of a world
   Of  passion
I will
        Forever
Divide along
       With
     For
        with
          her
         my life
       has new sense
          Moonstruck for
               her taste,
             She is
       the poet
           I won’t
        stop
             Talking
                or
             writing
                     about

It takes a sad soul to be able to write poetry.

Someone who has been through hell.

It takes a person with so much emotion,

To be able to understand poetry.

For it to really reach them.

Poets write to feel.

Poets write to find people who understand.

And more than anything,

Poets write,

In Hope's that their words,

Will reach someone just like themselves.

Poets write to feel less alone.

And to let others know they aren't alone either.

I see all of you.

Right down to your hearts.

I wish I had the chance to know all of you.

Your beautiful souls.

Please don't ever stop writing.

I need you.

All of you. ♡

I pick up the pieces
Gently, carefully,
Place them down
In my bathroom sink
Wipe away debris
Collected and caked
Onto your being
I meticulously clean
Each part of you
Warm you up
Pat you dry
Give you back
To the world
And hope you
Don't return here
Broken and filthy,
Yet again.

But and if
if and but
these two words
could break your heart--

if I were you
I would immediately start
to place the two words
permanently under my ****.

Yoko heard the gun go
Off in his hands
Yoko saw the life flow
Out of her man

Yoko heard the sad moan
All across the land
Yoko is alone
To never understand

Yoko must cope
In this devil's dance
Yoko with us lost hope
With give peace a chance

Yoko had to let go
Of her man John
While Yoko held on
To their son Shawn

Yoko played the scapegoat
All these many years
Yoko Ono
Cries real tears

As Yoko watched the world go
From love to hate
Yoko misses John so
Eight days a week