When writing is an ominous task
you should do it anyway, the results
can be nothing short of spectacular
heart-wrenching, heart-warming,
eye opening gifts to so many
and most importantly yourself

For me the most difficult poems to write
are the ones you need to get off your chest
but can't find the words
no matter how hard you try,
you're at a complete loss
nothing matches up with how you feel
so much so that the feelings are a burden
and the weight might become too great

So you paint a picture for yourself
and all who read your work, in such detail
using all of these words that seem so
insignificant alone but work together
in harmony like a beautiful orchestra
and tell your story in such a way that
your own voice couldn't even attempt
as the words don't tremble on paper

Poetry is my therapy,
my go-to-guy
I've learnt a lot about myself
in trying to write about myself
like how when I write sometimes
I'm just stalling for time
one poem can even be an excuse
to not write another poem
because I'm not quite ready
to come to terms with the subject yet
my poetry can hide me away
create a bubble that keeps me sane
it can also be my wake up call
my long overdue pinch in the side
and expose me to the elements
the fire, wind and ice of my life

The profits of words
In the night that becomes us,
We the nocturnal poets,
Divinities of the good nights
When benevolence soars
As the pen avenges the light;
Constellation of the return,
Coming to rip the hope from regret
And all dissolves into a pen,
Inklings that become the umbilical
Cord between now and then,
Present and tomorrow
Are written for the sake of hope,
Because yesterday is usually
A sad poem.

Quarter hour gone, I reinvent myself
Born from the volcanic melancholy,
The fire that burns
In the moments we want
Those moment's time,
Here and now,
Words are the quarter hour's
Fulfillment at the poets
Expense.

poets without borders
poems without restriction
poetry freeverse freedom.

one stanza to sing
one line in a thousand

who is to say
where your poem ends.

Her eyes are a metaphor,
   a conceit, fantasy

No shakespearean sonnet
   even a lyric, will suffice
   to describe the elegance she carries

Her smile, the greatest curve,
   all simile will be denied

Haikus and couplets
   even the long ones
   will not be enough

Her laughter is a song,
   a perfect harmony and melody

She is neither a hyperbole
   nor full of irony
   instead she is perfect rhyme

She is a walking poetry
   a personification of aesthetics

Almost an abstract
   unfathomable beauty
   out of the ordinary