.
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...

I see
tears
before
sunlight,
feel
pain
before
warmth

sense
invisible
shackles
grow
so heavy
I can
barely
move

In
quiet
desperation
my body
attempts
to
drown
itself

If I could talk to an Oak, or speak to a mighty Red Wood, or perhaps climb a mountain and chat with a lonesome Pine, what might I learn from listening to them? Would I hear all of the gossip from every passing bird, or perhaps their desires for the world. The one thing I think I would ask and would really like to know, is what does a tree dream of? Does the Oak dream of seeing it's Acorns grow, does the Red Wood dream of a simpler time? Would the Pine dream of the far away places it can see but never go, what would be on their minds. Perhaps one would not dream alone, but as a whole forest it link. Oh to know the secret of what a tree would dream, that would be amazing indeed.

Why do you treat me like I'm
Your Mistress?
Your little secret that no one else can see.
When your friend's walk by and
We're together
You never even look at me.

Why do you treat me like
Something on the side?
Your little hidden gem that no one notices.
When we're with each other
No one else matters
Until I'm left all alone again.

Then, why do I treat you like
My own little secret?
Can I be such a hypocrite?
I can't bring myself tell anyone
Anything
This isn't lasting, is it?

Be composed—be at ease with me—I am Walt Whitman, liberal and ***** as Nature;
Not till the sun excludes you, do I exclude you;
Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you, and the leaves to rustle for you,
do my words refuse to glisten and rustle for you.

My girl, I appoint with you an appointment—and I charge you that you make
preparation to be worthy to meet me,
And I charge you that you be patient and perfect till I come.

Till then, I salute you with a significant look, that you do not forget me.

Keep poetry
In the clouds above your head
Write poetry
Across the world to make peoples
Think that you are a poet
Love poetry
When u are having good habits
Or compassion
Express poetry
About your feelings happening now
Show poetry
What u are able to do with it
Telling others that
                           POETRY
                                 IS
                       EVERYTHING
  But keeping poetry is what we do today.

                         By K-mari ©2016

I see that you're struggling
I acknowledge your pain
One can't appreciate the sunshine
Without experiencing a little rain

I know you feel broken
As you count down seconds on the clock
Just know that when you need someone
I'll be your rock

Standing by you through the storms
Without pause I take on this task
You can cry, scream, or cuss me out
As we wait for them to pass

I understand that you're tired
But you mustn't stop fighting
When the darkness surrounds you
I'll shine a light, just keep climbing
  
You're not alone in your feelings
Though at times it may seem
We've all felt ourselves drowning,
Gasping, struggling to breathe

You are only human
You do what you can
Don't ever be ashamed
To need a helping hand

You're not without flaws
But that's indeed my favorite part
The realest person I've ever known;
A true work of art

The day you write a poem
is like no other!
It's like running through a dark corridor
and then you open a door
to this room full of light
that shines through you!
And you find yourself
conjuring words of hope and joy
fascinated in front of the endless
*beauty of life