There is nothing in nothing.
I get myself there.
There is a love in a love.
You take me affair.

I will ask for the heaviest rain for today, so that you won't go anywhere, including leaving me alone.

She is a girl who likes to write.
I am a boy who hates to wait.
She only writes a poetry for herself.
I only wait someone who never comes. We walk in different way.
I never read her poems.
She never comes to see me.
Both she and me are unlucky.

I am twenty three
She is twenty seven
I love her so much free
Our love is now flying in heaven

I am younger than her
She is older than me
Both of us are always together
Let sing a happy song for me

I am an ordinary boy
She is gorgeous one
We always enjoy
And make this life so much fun

I live in fantasy world
She tries to make me real
I want to grow old
and the love gives me all the feel

I had no idea
to call you back
when I lost everything
from my eyes sight.
But I want to get a help.

There is no poetry that will stop being written because every day a young poet is born and love is born every day.

Loving me
or leaving me
will never change
the memory.

I sit and write a poetry
For the day I should it be.
Seeing people come and go
From my corner of the window.

I always sleep in there,
The dream I get in my mind
Like a fairy tales,
That I'd to find.

Oh, the sun burns my blood
And became a fire,
A flame get me to shoot
And around me hire.

Take me fly in sky!
No wings did I use to play!
The wind brings me so high
And I can see you more bright.

Oh, the world I used to be lived
In the beautiful things I always see
At the rainy days it brings me a belief
For more time to be the character in my fantasy.

I write sometimes.
I read sometimes.
The day is going to be well.
But I feel I am always broken in many unspoken words.
Many poems were written.
Many feelings were poured in many cups of the day I spent too much.
They said, you are overthinking to yourself.
They said, you let more anxiety fill your brain.
I said, maybe this is the last time I will do.
Maybe I will forget the past and hope everyting is going to be fast.
I write sometimes.
I read sometimes.
Everyday I get I always heal myself.
Maybe I was born.
Again.
And again.
And maybe,
I will die everyday too.

It's true that my heart
was never free without you.
But who else cares now,
after all, life is what we live by ourselves.
Even caring is just an illusion.
Even though we once shared one hope, it turns out that only one of us always gets a share.
O mercy turned into ruins,
those who were once one are now scattered.
I don't mean to say this,
but why don't we live in many points of view.
Can't we just use it however we want?
It's unfortunate that they always follow the mob.
Happy are those who have their own way.

She's gone
another two years
with the memory
when I wrote this poem.
She's gone
and I still haven't found
a replacement,
even though I have written
many poems in her memory.
She's gone,
and that was the truth.
But poetry still has to be written,
and memories still have to be kept.
Now there's only one
story left.

You choose to close your eyes and never see me.
I die in it.

on white paper
the ink sheds itself,
destroys all voidness,
writing appears,
something is read,
after your death you send it,
to the living
to always be told
from generation to generation.

If
I
fall
in
love
with
you
day
by
day,
will
you
rise
me
up
every
single
part
when
I'm
falling?

Always in the poem
there are no tears
between the line
but we will get the fear
and pretend that's fine.
We fall short
and say "ah"
to be the final word.
We must ****
the November creep
waiting until the end of the year
throwing the days
that make you depress
by the message
in a fortune cookie.
Maybe,
by hoping to feel present
in the short future
on the dream we have
will be the last wishes.
We are all in pain
waiting for time
to the monotonous sound of the clock
ticking on the wall.

I still write my poem
Even if I don't share my poem with you
And you ask me where I have been
And you don't know why I am not seen
I still write my poem

The poem that tells about me
The poem that tells about you
The poem that tells about us
The poem tells about everything
What we have been through
Even if I never ask for you
I still write my poem

I will tell you as I tell to all my words
When I was writing my poem
And my heart was splitting into two
To convince that love is always true
To convince that love is always right
To convince that hate is always left
And we are together in between
As far as the broken heart symbols should be imagined

My heart is burning
and I see a fire burning
Making it ashes that look real and now it is turning
My heart is burning
and you are afraid to see a fire burning
Leaving me with him and never telling me a warning
My heart is burning
and we are no longer staying
Bringing the loves we've found after and now it is loosing
Now, my heart no longer exists
And will your heart be his substitute?
Look inside that furnace
Would you hurt your hand just to save the remains from it?
My heart has burned
And it turns out that love is real

I see myself walking in the night sky, taking the moon home, and letting you stay in the best place of my heart.

One day I will raise my child
like I have raised my feelings,
and it will all grow into something that most people agree on for adults.
One day I will raise my child,
and in the future when the present is something we can live.
One day I will have hope in them
as I hope in myself.

Taste the rain falling
   I'm standing under the tree
   That's music playing

What a beautiful word
If your dream will come true
And you realize you never sleep again
You will get what you want
Like your childhood playing with many toys in your room
O, let me play!
In this poem
I’ll play my word in my dream
I’ll play with you
In a bed
With a pillow
With a doll
With a sword
With a dream
With all my imagination
What a beautiful word
You are my dream
The dream of my world
Playing in playing out
My happiness will beat many sadness lines in the saddest word for the saddest world
O, let me play!
Let me play in a verse
Let me!
Let me!
You and me

What else are you crying
about the sadness of love
besides the way you got hurt again?

I wrote my short story in a piece of paper.
I wrote it as short as possible.
I wrote in three lines.

I did not know that I was too young to think about life was much better and easier than we could hold on something tight when we did not have ability to try more and more, but still did it little by little.

I did not know that I was easy to fall in the same place in my own mind and needed more loves  than breaths and needed more life than lives, and needed more rooms than this universe.

I did not know that I was afraid of being brave in nothing.

I did not know that I was killed by the time, I was only a young boy with no weapon to fight and I was forced to join this battle.

I did not know that I was alone with myself, talked too much, and said, "The strongest will fall and die".

I did not know that I was only of the last part in every story that no body wants to.

I did not know that I was only too fall to feel, too calm to realize it was too easy to be a real.

I stand for all forms of peace
and against all forms of war.
Can we love each other
as we are human?

in the cold morning
the wind blow pouring in my skin
the dews see its seen
the cigarette burns its stem
the sun sets it's grim
the white flower keeps staying
in the broken heart of blaming
and I sing a song
of why life
is so much hurt long

She is young, and me too
We share our love in a bed
Talking about what if we live together
Talking about what if the world ends forever
And does our love still stand in the damaged heart?
She is young, with beautiful eyes, thin lips, a very cute smile,
and her long hair fall on my legs
She does not care about me but she really cares about myself
I talk about many plans after doing a beautiful thing
She talks to me that it is impossible
I ask her to stay in a long time for me but not for myself
I get many things to do before letting her go
But sometimes she decides to go without telling me before
She is young, and me too
So I write her in really true
I miss the way she loves me but not in herself

I got to know
some people nice
and gave me
the best advice.
Even though
I never see them
with my eyes
as close as I can feel
how cold the ice.

Life
       can
               fall
                       apart
                                   in
                                         a
                                             moment.
And we forget how short our life is.

Just take it easy.
Love your life now.
Be better.
Do better.
Grow better.

She keeps writing many poems
and does not care when her writings
does not get many readers.
She keeps herself from the pain she gets and she loves it.
The way she looks
and the way she smiles
we can see by reading all her writings.
She has many friends with the words she writes
and she gets many loves with the world she lives.
The only way to find her home
is by reading it at all.
She is the princess of the words.

Losing you may be my fault,
but having you forever is not one of the ways to treat wounds.

Love, I want to have you
That's what the world teaches through words
Of course, you need to say it

Love, I want to  have you
That's what human mothers and fathers have done
And babies are born from them

Love, I want to have you
And the universe that we walk on leads us to always love each other

Love, I hate you
I hate when the time I brought suddenly disappears
When I see the hands of my watch stop moving
Then I grabbed something empty when I reached into my pants pocket

Love, you are art
Even though art knows no form
You are beautiful
But not everyone sees it

Love, you are lost time
When I hate you

My darling is no longer here
nor on tonight's poetry
where half of her face was lost in the night
and dreams are now no longer like a blushing red moon
when I last saw her drunk in the lap of love.

It’s really happy if you can always create the night from restless in your heads--
creating many twinkling stars in your sleep
reaching the sky
seeing her cute smile from out there.

What is my darling doing now?
Like a hope that I failed to achieve again.
O, is this a loss that is felt many times?

Tonight is like last night.
Poetry is like a cure for every addiction
to such a sad life.
O, I just let go--all the words.
Just let her fly around the lost soul
on a body that was empty
and had become in rubble vanished.

Even though there is no moon and stars anymore
even though you are still looking for the bright light
in your cramped room--
because the sobs never end and always cover your chest.
Tonight will remain a long night--
the sound of the bats are so deafening
the sound of the crickets soothe the atmosphere—
like your lonely heart
who has died by many buts.

Alright, let's get it--everything
like nothing had ever happened
like the indifference of human life
like you can only feel your soul fly in the imagination that you create yourself.

Alright,
tonight will be like last night--a long night
the night where my darling is no longer here
neither in my head
nor in this poem.

A beautiful red broke a smile
on a shame face
O, it turns out that my beloved
long gone
and I failed to face

A blue sad sky
to the poet who is gloomy in front of the poem
stringing words
downing the imagination
the numb

Apparently, the flower is the beloved
O I forget how many times I searched
All in my yard
Grow in a heart!
Grow in a heart!
Bloom on a heart
Bloom on a poem!

O this is a poem for her
And the buzzing bee sing a song to her
And also sing a song to me

I'm bad at treating people sometimes, but I'm good enough to love myself completely. Who is right?

Hi, night!
What are you doing there?
Should you bring me the moon?
I need the moon to accompany beside me.
I cannot sleep.
I am not already for the dark.
I am not afraid of.
I just need a friend here.
Hi, night!
Do you want to know something secret?
The sun always loves you.
The sun is still waiting for you.
The dawn always remembers what I must do.
Hi, night!
I love you for the moon
you never give me.
I wish I could forgive you
because you will leave me
in the sunlight,
in the morning,
in the reality.

I'm afraid.
I'm afraid to see the people closest to me look laughing and very happy.
I'm afraid when they are alone they are actually sad, pain, even hurt.
I'm afraid that all this time they were hiding it all.
I'm afraid if I turn out to be like them.

I remember the days
when you talk more
while I prefer silence
and listen.
I remember the days
where the conversation
only happens through one side.
I remember the days
where words are warmer than a kiss
and hugs.
I remember the days
when you prefer to side with separation.
I remember the days
when you try not to remember me.
I remember those days.
And you no longer want to remember everything.

Like a hole in the toilet
and everything we've left there.
Flowing fast of our heads and minds. Blurring in every sight, then shattered at every shock.

(We've dived into the memory of the remains, we then grab it in vain).

Like a hole in the toilet
and everything we've left there,
and everything we're trying to get after.
Everything,
just a soul which used to be frozen and now dead stiff.

Like a hole in the toilet
and everything we've left there.
Hope will reproduce again,
and fail always win more,
we both have tried,
we both feel relieved.

When I was a child,
I often played in the field,
played with mud there,
ran on the rice fields,
on the vast expanse of rice,
birds were flying,
chirped sweetly,
the air was fresh,
the smell of dew,
the sun's light was so beautiful shining on a hopeful face,
sweat pouring down,
hope the harvest can go well.

But when I grew up,
I saw that many rice fields became high-rise office buildings,
company factories.
People lost their fields,
were sold to the powerful.
They say,
for development,
for common prosperity.
But,
they destroy the environmental order, waste is scattered,
the soil is completely damaged and excavated.
They displace,
drive away.

They say this is our land.
They are the rich.
Who can manage everything.

And I start to write the words
And I write it by my bloods
And I write it in the white board
And I do not want it be sold
And I will say it a masterpiece of gold
And I will keep it in my hold
And I lose it
And I never be glad

I am the character in a game of love.
You try to gotcha by purchasing and hope you will get the best character, but I am not over power one you want it.

When we can understand
after we consume too much
everything you no longer need
or we don't have to know –
technology that drives us all the crazier,
lovers who end up hating each other,
fictional romance stories and idol figures,
forest destruction, environmental pollution,
riots, the roar of caged animals;
I saw the news of an elephant calf
reported to have died
with an entangled trunk
his eyes lookup
into our minds,
increasingly miserable workers
for a small fee,
the state moves people like pawns;
beautiful and charming thief,
elegant wife and luxury
overcrowded prison,
slum dweller,
unemployment,
and a man old enough to love graves.
These things, and more, in content
shows life swinging on a rotten axis.
But they left a little hope
to drown out a little mess
or intentionally making noise
on the show, we have to pay for ourselves every day,
in the smartphone screen.
A flying bird
and around the roof of the house
as a symbol of death
against human conscience,
above he shouted,
“Love me again!”
such as vehicles and pollution
who came on time,
and the city awaits them.
On the shop front,
water runs high,
people laughing happily
and the flowers wither away
in rainy season
who came again.
Is there any form of sadness
other than things that are no longer useful,
for those of us who are speechless?

Sometimes I feel they don't want to see me.
Sometimes I feel they don't want to see me around them.
Sometimes I feel I need more light even I just have a little.
Sometimes I need the way I can see myself even when I always get lost in many darkness.
Sometimes I feel  I am bad when I am doing something and they want me to be perfect one.
Sometimes I feel I always do wrong.
And
Why?
Sometimes,
I write
and cry
and also pray.

Even,
in the lowest place I still drown!
Please help me pull over!

Give me a pen
and put it on my right hand,
I will write our story
with the right love,
so we have a new plan
to explore this journey.

I need an answer
when you don't give me a question.