'Why do you write poems?'
That is the worst question you can ask me
Because there is no true answer to that question
To describe my feelings
My anger
My pain
My sorrow
My guilt
My happiness
My confusion
To paint images, in my own point of veiw
The softness  and innocence of a single rose
The jeweled coolness found in a dew hanging, off a single blade of grass
The rough edges on of single page in a book, only too be softened with the words written on it.
To create
A story
A lullaby
A memory
A moment
I write because it makes life better in so many different ways
I write to create new stories
I write to remember old ones
I write to paint, new images
I write because it helps take away my pains
I write because, I can




                                       Why do you write poems?

All the ones I
Love the most have

Someone they love
More than me.

The truth of it is
Beautiful;

That lonely knowing
Sets me free.

The legless fly,
The voiceless sing.

There's love in every
Living thing.

And in that love
I bask and laugh,

Composing my own
Epitaph:

All gods are real, and
Therefore none, and

Hell hath merely
Room for one.

All the ones I love
The most

May barely know a
Man from ghost.

I love their rains, their
Suns and soils,

Their loving others form
The spoils that go

To me right where I
Stand to see:

I need not even
Me.

It's been a year and I still get butterflies when I talk to you.
That feeling in my stomach when my heart wants to reach out to every part of my body and share the happiness you give it.
"Butterflies". It's been a year and I still call it that.
Butterflies happens when you're dropping on a roller coaster. Butterflies happens when your car goes over a bump and then you feel yourself falling down.
This isn't that. This only happens with you.
This is what they said I'd know it when I feel it.
This has to be what they call love.

Into the wild
is where she roams
Path unseen
Destination unknown
Following hearts desire
Leading her to
Blessed inner fire
Trees do sway
As she spares not a glance
at the lights play
The grasses bending
To her will
Forest creatures
Gaze standing still
For never a sight they have beheld
This woman running free
Here in the wild

We're only getting older
and the air's just getting colder,
but we march shoulder to shoulder
into what our lives may bring.

We're only getting younger,
with new, incessant hunger;
and now we start to wonder
of what our lives may bring.

bodies rise like stars
into heavenly space far,
the rush of love comes

My dreams can make me fly
So far far away
They make you go here and there

You may hear frightening screams
But don't give up on your
Hopes and dreams

They make you go to a place made of fantasy
That makes you wonder why live in reality?

Her most priced jewelry
           Is the glitter of the tears from her eyes.
Others say it is the sparkle of her eyes
           When she smiles --
But, only she knows
That her tears are more expensive than her smiles ...

That person who gets you, lifts you
As the stone that fits your hand does
Who loves you as the stone from your hand
Skims out across the sea, loves you so
Many times more
Than you can count
That
Person

Whose love seems older than the stone
Smoother than its perfect roundness
Whose eyes seem deeper than the sea
During the endless time your eyes
Meet. And the feeling

In your heart
Of that stone
That oldest
Perfect
Love

Skimming light, skimming fast
Skimming away
Away

As it fades
As it

Fades