a microbe,
a stab,
in many years,
in a few minutes,
sometimes
always

writing poetry is not easy, in fact your born with it.
some people say i cant do it, i agree.

As i sit here next to my inspiration i think, i think and think

my mind turning and turning just for the idea to come.
WHEN.....

i get the idea I've been looking for.

Over the years
all that you said
the glimmer in your eyes
with the way you looked at me
The words exchanged
those perfect moments in your arms
regardless of how seldom
and far between
they may have been
neither of us could escape
the passion shared
in spite of the short distance
that seemed a million miles
or how fate
always seemed to bring us back
to each others presence
as if time and space deemed it
which we always returned to
as if it were yesterday
when we least expected
but its your silence
that almost convinces me
it never meant a thing.