~

Even the
    loneliest
  of days
      eventually
          end

I am so
     thankful
    mine always
         end with
              *you

Springing forth
in the upheaval of truth
Leaving the lies
where they began
when you said
"I love you"
and I
believed you

Only
You and me
We were special
Made for each other
There was something about us
Neither had felt love like this before
I said something that hurt you badly
Allowing your heart to change
Then you hated me
Now there is no
You and me
Only


You


and


me

They say if you die in a dream
you are dead, but what happens
when your dreams die
and you wish you were?

If poetic ink indeed flows from the heart
taking to its walk on scattered stones
Where there is no blurring of pathways,
directions are defined,
thoughts collect in either
ponds or puddles, then

Some you will find lead to a sunrise
where joy thrives in fragrant wishes,
drinking all that is beautiful
in cupped hands glistening,
overflowing with happiness,
if streaming from a heart in love

While some will crawl to an ending
beneath rain dispersing clouds,
weeping in sorrowed words,
laying waste in the darkness,
when escaping from the cracks
of a heart broken

I have been asked
why is my poetry so depressing,
I hope this answers your question

The door was locked
So I  knocked

You opened it up
Then you could see
You thought it was him
But saw it was me

You were shocked
The door was locked