Hey, i want to speak with honesty,
I dont know what i would do without poetry,

Feel like i won a lottery,
all because of word pottery,

a mind free is all,
expressing secrets from the soul,

With a careful craft of the beat,
music is born from the art,

Therapy in psychiatry,
aesthetic in  phylosophy ,

People  love and fight,
Some just live to hate,

oppositions and dominions,
Opinions and religions,

But poetry and music lives,
lifetimes and lifetimes with love,

and nomatter the weather
it shall always bring humanity together

let me listen to you
your hidden landscapes
your lives lost
in velvety oblivion

listen to the streams of blood
throbbing at your wrist
in the tender flesh inside your elbow

listen to the vulnerable intensity
in the soft vale at your collarbone

the silence on your lips
the whirls below

listen
listen through you
to these things that one cannot speak

**Ioana Ieronim

silence melts like caramel inside
like an empty-full touch
words travel without meaning
the city indulges its narcosis
all the dumping fights,
jouissance de vivre on the move
and he wants someone
to fill in the blanks:
oh, this is my skin

he carries his cotton touch
on forgotten routes
to vibrant roots
identities combine & depart
some are searching for new pronouns
the silence of silences rejuvenates the city
fresh dreams
new transactions
between truth and reality

and he wants -
fill himself in
and some wonder

Poetry
Some write few lines,
Which relate to an incident they had in this life.
Some write to express what they feel within,
I write to let the fear within me be seen by millions.
Words form from just 24 alphabets,
Each word has its own meaning,
Yet why do i arrange these words in a unique way?
That they let out the deepest feelings in me.
Sometimes i cry out in pain,
Sometimes whatever i do is in vain.
But how can these mere words,
Project what my inner self is going through?
The words in which i express myself.
When i show it to someone else?
Do they feel the same way too?
No two persons can be same,
No two feelings can be same.
When a fruit falls from the tree, the little child is dancing with joy while the Gardner cries in anger.
The words have their own magic,
It all seems like a game of hide and seek..
Do i hide behind these words which i write?
Does my deep inner self, which shouts all the time, make me write the words flowing in my mind into a meaningful verse ?
So, someone reads these hidden words and seek what i truly am.
Maybe i write to hide, and you read to seek.
But we both really look for the same things, our true deep feelings.