To write food in the stomach
Of every hungry child.

To spell war as peace,
Metaphorize flowers into the barrel

Of every gun on Earth.
The poet has responsibilities

Beyond those of mothers,
Of kings and presidents.

I refuse to give up hope;  
This could be a poem world.

Come on, write your worst piece
Of literature.

Even misprints may give other
Meanings to a word,

Write me a green sky, blue dirt,
Trees the colour of air.

Sometimes the best poets
Have the least to say,

So keep writing, write until your
Fingers fall asleep.

Write until you havent slept
For weeks in search of that word,

That one right word,
Then rest on a notebook pillow

And dream the world right.
Write the world right.

There is no such thing as
Wasted poetry.

Each day my heart grows more fond of the way you love me
I find myself constantly in awe of how phenomenal it is to be loved by altruism itself.
You have redefined beauty for me.
Because it is no longer just the perfection in your body.
It is not how perfect your hair always looks.
Not just how much I love your style and the way you dress.
The way your fragrance makes me weak at the knees.
No, Beautiful has turned into a word defined by complete.
Something that is all encompassing.
Beautiful has to do with your always loving heart.
Your complex and constantly working mind.
The voice that will forever change this world.
Beautiful has become something so much deeper than appearance.
It has become the hearts that will benefit from your presence
Beautiful is a reminder that we can always do things a little better.
I don’t think I can simply use the world beautiful the way I use to.
It has become a word specifically designed for you.

Your life.
You are the hero.

Start from
There.

Now
Write.

Every page is
Blank after

This
One.

That is
Power.

Pen
Power.

God is a
Poet.

You have that in
Common.