To love and lose.
     Is better than drugs or *****.
The pain they cause is temporary.
     And the pain of love is arbitrary.
To each their own.
      But to me. Alone.

Help me speak my mind.
Teach others and be kind.
When you seek then you will find.
Beware the rhetoric.
Never ask for a sign.

I had you, but I lost you.
I didn't know you, so I lost you.
I got scared, and I lost you.
You're okay, I still lost you..

Dusty. Cluttered. Used. Abused. Recycled. Reused. But open.

These are the corners of my mind.

I've always struggled with naming my poems.
They live and breathe as nameless things.
Nothing really fits.

Who is he who can name poetry?

I've lost my muse.
   My poetry song.
        My words don't flow.
             My thoughts don't glide.
What's in a muse?
I ask myself.
As I claw and scream and ask for help.
Release it comes.
In poetry.
But how can I write without a muse.

What do we live for?
Is it for ourselves?
Or is there something more.
That drives us, that compels.
What is the purpose?
Of life here on this earth.
To love and be loved.
And to new love give birth.
That's the purpose.
And I hope it gives you pause.
Because life without love is pointless.
No man would have a cause.