Why do people revisit their old wounds ?
Is it an addiction to pain ?
Or unwillingness to let go of misery ?
It is the same reason a bird revisits its broken nest;
To see if it can fix its broken walls or remove the thorns from its floor board .
Perhaps to try something different from last time hoping this time round it will work.
This is the law of life ; learning to leave with pain.
Sometimes when the skeleton gets out of the closet you can't take it back.
The only way to understand pain is to look deep into it without turning back ,to stare Into the dark abyss until you see the light.
Because healing always begins with embracing pain not running away from it.

Mrs Solomon taught us in science of the sun ,moon , stars and reflection.She said just as the moon shines by reflecting light from the sun we too don't t become dim by making others shine .Afterwards she gave each of us blank paper and as we were waiting for instructions what do with it she said “the sky is a clean slate write your dreams on it ."

Next was the arts class and she gave us woods and beams and told us to make toy houses .And when we were done as she passed by she said “children do not make people your homes.People are rivers ever changing ,ever flowing, they will run down with everything you put inside them."

In the English class Mrs Solomon taught that, No ,is a complete statement.That sometimes when somebody says no they don't need to explain ,add or reduct .

In the religious studies class Liz your crush asked Mrs Solomon “What is your religion ?" upon which she answered “love " and then She interjected “I mean where do you worship ? " And Mrs Solomon replied “the world" and we all gave a holy grin .

And lastly came the maths class and she made the maths looks easy,she taught us;A strange subject is maths but it should not give you pats .Maths is full of calculation and you will have to know multiplication .There are sums of tricks and you will get a zero if they don't stick.Have the formula right and with you maths will be popular.

And before the evening bell rang she also took questions on how to dance in the rain ,how to smile in the storm and how to find beauty in the ugly.

Sometimes I am a star,
I am stucked in my position.
Sometimes I am a planet
Rotating and completing
an unending revolution.

Sometimes I am a meteor,
I tend to fall so hard and break.
Sometimes I am a comet,
I burn, I shine, and fade.

Sometimes I am an asteroid,
just a rock wandering the space.
Sometimes I am the moon,
believing that everything
is just a phase.

Sometimes I am just a blank space.
Dark. Empty. Lonely.

There are so many kinds of bravery in this world, my Mother said. The ones where you feel like a small ship sailing through the stormy ocean waves, and the ones where you dry your tears and keep charging ahead even when your knees give out. There are those kinds of bravery where you sacrifice your own self and the ones you love for something much bigger, and those where you decide to live with endless regrets and guilt just for the sake of a single important moment. There are those, too, where you almost give all your life, all the strength you have just to be a little less hopeless, just to have a simple but comfortable life.

But there is another kind of bravery, too. The kind that asks you to take a step back and breathe when everything gets too heavy. The kind that pats your head when you fall down and tells you that it is okay to be home again. The kind that only reminds you of being tender to yourself, of knowing that bravery doesn't always mean going on even when it hurts. Sometimes, it means knowing when to stop and accepting that it's okay to give up and take your time rather than blindly losing everything running ahead.

I hope you don't always mistake resilience for bravery. I hope you treat yourself as someone important, too.

I fell for you
faster than
9.8 m/s^-2.

So I told you
I love you
faster than
3.0 x 10^8 m/s^-1.

And I mean it.
Always.

Writing poetry is like breathing.
Inhale ideas and emotions,
And exhale a master piece.

I know a genius writer
who writes horror,
because his heart
was filled with
anxiety and terror.

he lost his beloved wife,
in the Kingdom by the sea,
and yes,
it is his Annabel Lee.

he is the greatest poet
who ever lived.
he writes with his soul
as dark as the night
but with a pure heart
that create art.  

beauty and sublime,
these two words define him.

his life became miserable
like the stories he wrote,
his death is still unknown
and there were few
people who attended
his funeral,
the world is not that literal.

The Raven took him,
so did the Black cat.

his last words were "Lord, help my poor soul"

I have to ask,
"Is this what a great writer deserve?"

he became penniless in writing,
but it didn't stop him.

writing is not a job,
it's heroism,
it's an obligation,
it's the most humanistic profession.

be proud,
if you can write.

I wonder if the moon cries
when a star dies.

I wonder if the moon weeps
when a meteor dives so deep

I wonder if the moon shines
when it is lonely;
I wonder if the moon loves poetry.

"what's your religion?"
he asked.

"love is my religion"
I replied.

"so, where is your church?"

"the earth is my church".

People greet you differently...
Some greet you with their hand
Others with their heart
And very few with their soul.

I wonder why I have always felt safe with you — like, how the raging storms in my heart come to still just be your mere touch; how your smooth voice calms my overflowing emotions, and how your gaze clears out the background noise and make me focus only on you.

My grandmother once told me, “Always choose the one that calms your heart and not the one that gives you butterflies.”

I was too young to understand then but now I know why.

Because in times when the world becomes too loud, I’d only go to you and you’ll make it all go away. When the people around me say a lot of irrelevant things, I’d only seek your advice and you’d make my mind at peace.

But most of all, when I asked myself what I really felt for you, there was no question or doubt that emerged from my mind —  my heart was still, it was calm.

My heart and mind were at peace in telling me this is love — a love that’s sure, freeing, and selfless. A love that didn’t come from chaos but a love that comes from love itself; so pure and one of a kind.

She's dancing
in my mind without
care of the world,
and I love how
she invades my thoughts
and how I smile
when I think of her.

I want to fall in love again,

Not with sweet words but with efforts,
not with looks but with soul,
not with promises but with sacrifices.

I want to fall in love again,
but not the way I did before.

and if you ask me what
do I love every morning,

Is it a coffee?
poetry?
short walks?
morning breeze?
or sunlight?

No my love
'cause it's you,
you're everything I
need to complete
my day,

I love you.

She was an open book,
but I can't read.
So her eyes taught me
everything I need,

until I finally mastered
how to love her.

First loves. First butterflies. First plans. First dates. First time you had your heart ripped apart.

First love smells like grass freshly mown, with the feeling of satisfaction and being one with something better than yourself.

First love tastes like melted chocolate in your mouth, that feeling of addiction which you want to deny exists but in your heart you know it is there.

First love consists of stolen glances. When you want to pretend that you’re not looking and maybe, that you do not care, but you care so much that your heart might just pop out.

First love reminds you of that one time, when you believed that anything was possible. When you believed that everything was going to turn out all right.

First love is about the plans that were never executed. The dreams that were lost in the long dark nights. First love is about the time when you were broken beyond mend. It is about realizing that you are stronger than you believe you are.

First loves. First kisses. First night holding their hand and feeling complete. Of teary eyed goodbyes and crying your heart out alone. When you do not remember how you lived your life before you fell in love.

The highest of highs. The lowest of lows. With just one question at the end.

Was the high worth the pain?

The greatest love story is when you fall in love with an unexpected person, in the most unexpected time, in the most unexpected place, and in the most unexpected way.

The worst way to die
is to be forgotten
while you're still alive.

To chase the fogs
and climb out,

To brew some coffee
and make breakfast,

To go out and jog
or to stretch and run,

Whatever morning routine
would it be,
I prefer sunrise of you and me.

My lady is not perfect
She has scars on her skin, she has storm in her heart, she has skeletons in her closet, she has dark rooms in her head.

She can't write a poem with perfect rhymes, sing in perfect tune, dance in perfect music, paint with perfect combination of colors.

But her heart is pure as a clear sea full of honesty and sincerity, her care is sweet as honey and sugar in a coffee.

And her love is like the love of the ocean to the sun, patient, true even though limited and miles sets them apart .

My woman is not perfect nor ideal one, but she's a stone that's rare to find and I love her more than everything.

the night
conquers
my sight.

the moon
shines bright.

the stars
haunt me
over and over
again.

I am an owl,
A nyctophile.

There are so many beautiful things
But I chose you, my masterpiece.

Because why would I look for another star,
When you're already my moon.

Why would I find another universe,
If you're already my galaxy.

Why would I find another constellation,
If your name is the most eye-catching one.

Why would I find the biggest castle,
If you're in the paradise waiting for me.

Why would I leave,
If I'm home already.

Why would I write for someone as my subject,
When you're the heart of my poetry.

She's my Friday,
I am her Monday.

I never liked the sun
I hated being in the spotlight.  

I always liked the moon
I loved being in the dark.

but, ever since you came
into my life.
I always want to get seen by you.
to be noticed by you.

I don't think I can be
where you can't see me.

I never dreamed
of becoming a writer,
but I write.

I can't even say that
I am good at writing,
but still, I write.

I want to write
my heart out.
I want to exclaim my
thoughts, hoping that
someone out there
will understand me.

I fell for you
faster than
9.8 m/s^-2.

So I told you
I love you
faster than
3.0 x 10^8 m/s^-1.

And I mean it.
Always.

I am a direct metaphor.
I am simple compared to simile.
Buzzing noisily with onomatopoeia.
I am much harder than the irony.
Awfully repetitive like alliteration.
More hyper than the hyperbole.
Non-living but I live by personification.
I am litotes, full of negativity.
I am the antithesis of the antithesis.
Partly whole like synecdoche.
I am confusing and messy like paradox.
I use "handsome" as my name. Metonymy.

If you can't understand the pun,
it's because I am
the "*****" in the oxymoron.

Let me be your own artist,

I'll change your
scars into stars,
the tears in your
eyes into butterflies
and your sufferings
into colorful
lanterns,
let me paint you
with the colors I
have, let me write
you using my
blood, my love,
You'll be the best
art and poetry
and our love story
would be the most
beautiful tale that
will be written
in the history.

This is how I want us to end;

I want it to be memorable,
happy, and romantic.
I want us to end while watching
the sunset by the beach.
I want us to hold hands and
kiss until the very last moment.
I will tell you how much
I adore you this past few years.
I want to tell you that I
want to be with you forever.

I want the end of us,
to be the day that one of us
reached the end of lifetime.

Error 404: Love not found.

The Love you are looking for doesn't exist or an other error occurred. Go back, or head to www. move_on .com to choose a new direction.

Love,

I always stare at the skies, wondering if there's somehow a chance that stars could meet the ground, then I remember you,

The distance that separates me from you always brought me to a desire of meeting you personally someday,

I'll make a cup of your favorite black coffee and we'll drink on a couple mug, we'll share the best smiles that will complete our day,

We'll visit every bookstores, old places, museums and we'll captured photographs of us that will be kept for years in our life's timeline,

And I'll rest in your arms while we're looking at the beautiful night sky, lay my head on your chest and sleep with the melody of your heartbeats as my lullaby,

If the universe allows us to meet, I won't miss every single moment to show you how much I love you.

Like those little stellar, I will fall for you once and I'll keep the memories we will make. Just wait for me, Love, cause' I'll be there,

Someday.....................in perfect time

just the time
i thought that
there's no more
hope, the same
time a ray of light
crossed right
before my eyes.

just the time
i thought i lost
it all together
the same time
i realized i have
nothing more to
lose and be grateful
for what i have.

just the time
i thought love
isn't for me,
the same time
someone came
knocking on my door
asking for a chance.

just the time
i thought to myself
to give up,
to let myself be
drowned to storms
of life, the same
time the storm ceases.

now, i realized
i just have to wait,
be patient and believe
that everything is
just right on time.

You said you're fine
although you're not.

Your lifeless eyes told
me that you lied.
Your body is warm but
you are dead inside.

Let me hug you for a moment.

I met a stranger,
who loved me like how
She loves the painfulness of poetry.

I met a stranger,
who loved me like how
She loves the bitterness of coffee.

I met a stranger,
who loved me like how
She loves the wildness of the sea.

I met a stranger,
who loved my flaws, my
dark sides, my all.

She was once my unknown zone,
But now, she's my home.

I love the idea of night sky in you,

The darkness is your
hue, serene, peaceful
and comforting.

The stars are your
personalities, sorts of
colors but all fascinating.

And the moon is your
heart, imperfect but
every phase is exquisite.

So every time I'm
longing for you, I
just look above, Love.

Cause' you're the night sky,
I never want to be out of my sight.

You went to the paper town,
and left me with paper cuts.
Let my paper plane be with you dear,
though you tore my paper heart.

Sail with my paper boat,
and burn my paper poems.
It's sad I can't be with you
on building your paper home.

Paper is the only place where
I wrote and drew our forever.
But I love you so, my paper girl,
I'm just done wasting papers.

Child :Mother, what is poetry?

Mother :Listen child ,poetry is when you look at the moon and you would like to sleep on it.
It is when you touch the stars with your eyes.
Is when you feel good simply just admiring a flower or
feeling like a flower above an ocean ,on the wings of a seagull.
it's when you dye your hair
with the colours of the sunset
or when you dance on clouds
or travel among the planets
riding a comet.
It's when you're not afraid to cry
if a child smiles at you or if he cries too.
Poetry is when you talk to a tree
and you ask how its leaves are.
It's watching the city when it rains and see her sparkle like gemstones.
It is listening to the wind when it sings a song."

Child :Mom,now I know what poetry is.

Mother :What is it my darling ?

Child :It means to be a child forever

when the stars
collide,
I wish our hearts
too.

You may fall like those leaves during autumn but you can still bloom like those blossoms during spring.

Here’s to the poets
who died a thousand times
and lived millions more—
who danced with rhymes
until their hands feel sore;

Who rewrote the stars
and found beauty in scars,
who romanticized the moon
and found poetry in tunes;

Who blew kisses in the wind
And felt a love left unseen—
A ghost of a romantic scene,
Embers of what could’ve been;

Who found hope in nothingness
and beauty in one’s madness—
Who saw mediocrity in greatness
as they strive for more goodness;

Who took coffee at the rising morn,
And stole kisses with corny love letters,
Sung like bards mad as the pied piper,
Fell in love and became jealous of Heather.

Here’s to the poets
who got lost in transition,
in the world of ink and paper,
in the phantasms of poetic allusion,
in the warmth and cold of December,
in the reveries of literary composition,
in the need to write history to remember
and to those who got lost in fascination—

May you all be remembered by the world
as the pages of our history remain untold;
Melt what’s frozen, bring warmth to the cold.
Keep crying for literature, be poetic and bold.

Thank you for giving me a loving home
When I thought I was meant to be alone,
For giving me a shelter during the storm
'Til I learned how to survive by my own.

Because one day our breath will cease
And no longer shall we bleed poignant ink—
Let the stars fall as the pen and paper kiss,
Write your last poetry before it sinks.

If you can't tell me how you feel,
write it.

Write it in clean sheet,
or a brown paper bag,
you may write it in your email,
or on your tangible or digital note.
You may write it on my wall,
or on my arms, and palms.

Write everything you want to say.
Never hold it back.

I badly want to know you.
If you can't tell me, write it.

Poetry lives within me,
creating a constellation
in the deepest part of my heart.

Poetry lives within me,
planting different blossoms
that continuously bloom.

Poetry lives within me,
painting a colorful skies
in every edges of my eyes.

Poetry lives within me,
and Love you are that poetry
cause' you're turning my life
into a beautiful scenery.

I always love the sky,

When it turns into yellow
and started to warm my
skin with the comfort of its hotness.

When it turns into orange
and started to became a vintage
scenery that reminds me to rest.

And when it turns into gray
and started to fall the heavy tears
embracing my soul with its coldness.

I always love the sky,
for it reminds me that my life
can be an exquisite scenery.

Now, I can't help falling in love
with every shades of its hue,
because Love, that sky is you.

Sometimes, she wish to be pretty,

She want to have a skin
as smooth as silk
and as soft as cotton,

She want to have a face
as exquisite as an angel
and as tame as princess,

She want to have a voice
as sweet as coffee and
as melodious as sea,

But I guessed, She don't have
to change herself to be
called as beautiful,

Cause' she is an art and
She is already a beautiful abstract.

Who will be there after
the world turned its back on you?

Your self.

So treat your self the way you
crave for others to treat you.

One time I asked her, what characteristics do her ideal man possess. "I want a poet, a deep one. I want a poet that uses passionate, unfamiliar words, and his poems can both restore or rip my soul apart. I want a poet that can see through my mind and heart, and lastly, I want a poet that can make me his one and only muse", she said.

"Am I the poet that you've been looking for?", I sarcastically asked her. "I am all of what you said. I'm over qualified".

"Hahahaha. No, not you."

And that was the time when I was buried in my own grave that I dug.

The love that you've been praying for,
will not be always a love in bloom,
it is a love you need to take care of,
to grow more fruits and flowers soon.

The love that you've been praying for,
is like figuring out how to open a locked room.
It will be as complicated like our minds,
and undergo some phases, like the moon.

The love that you've been praying for,
will not always feel like comfort zone.
Sometimes it will be like a battlefield,
and you'll just wish to be alone.

The love that you've been praying for,
is not perfect like you thought it was.
Your prayer is granted but you have to work;
to make the love that you prayed for, last.

It is not my poems
that are beautiful
it is you that are
because I describe you
In all my poetry
that's what make them beautiful

Today I saw God dressed in tattered clothes with a bowl in his hand begging bread ,I could count his ribs from the hunger pangs.God was so skinny.

Today is saw God confined in a tiny cell for a crime he committed or perhaps he didn't commit ,He was dressed in black and white stripes, all alone and forsaken.

Today I saw God sick and writhing in pain in an hospital bed with none besides Him to comfort him.God had been sick many days.

Today I saw God lost in the big city ,with no friends or relatives to take him in ,he slept there in the open street battered with the cold under the starry heavens .He who created the heavens and earth had no where to sleep.

Today I saw God in the streets ,in the prison ,in the hospital while I was hurrying to go and meet Him in the grand cathedral ,today I saw God and I almost passed him by.