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  Jan 2015 Fon
ryn
.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but
               unbound...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
     colours.
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of
               painters...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
          genres.
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...
.
Dedicated to all of you...

If you're reading this...
This is for you...
.
  Jan 2015 Fon
Haydn Swan
If I held out my hand
would you take it ?
it's warmth ready to permeate your soul
but what would it tell you of me ?
the scar on my finger
the wrinkling skin
the crooked pinkie
the gnarl on my thumb
stories to be told
if you would only take hold.
  Dec 2014 Fon
Devon Webb
We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.
It's worth it though.
  Dec 2014 Fon
Craig Harrison
Love is when you are missing some of your teeth
but you're not afraid to smile
because you know your friends will still love you
even though part of you is missing

Love is when your hair is falling out
but you don't wear a wig
because you know your friends will still love you
even though part of you is missing

Love is when you lose your arms and legs
but you don't hide away
because you know your friends will still love you
even though part of you is missing

Love is when people accept you for who you are
and you can relax and breathe free
because that's what love is
Inspired by Emma k aged 6

I don't know this person but it was something I read online (first 4 lines) and I thought it was very cute and true and I wanted to share it with you
Fon Dec 2014
I'm dreaming of your hands on my body
Feeling me gently
Softly
Passionately

Breathing
Heavily
Irresistibly

Heart­
Racing fast
And getting
Faster

Don't stop now

Make us closer
Than ever

Make me feel
How much you love me
With your touch

Make me feel
How it's like to be loved
How it's like to be in love
And receive love
In return

Make
Me
Yours
  Nov 2014 Fon
Emmy
I want to softly whisper
incomplete poems
on your collar bones
that don't rhyme with anything
but your heavy breathing.

I want to bury my face
in the curves of your neck
because you smell like the winter clouds
and I've been gazing at the sky
since you left.
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