There exists a place on earth
Where one can find true peace
A place away from stress and pain
A place where all of it will cease

For some, it's near the ocean
That a calm can always be found
The waves carry all the stress away
With that familiar relaxing sound

The coolness of the water,
And the warmth of sunny rays,
It doesn't take very long at all
Before the world melts away

For others it's the forest
That sets their mind at ease
The world feels completely still
When you're surrounded by tall trees

The air somehow feels calmer
It smells remarkably fresh
Some birds tweet in the distance
And your thoughts again can mesh

So often we get caught up
In the worries of the day
We forget to worry about ourselves
And take some time away

So whether you go alone
Or with someone you hold dear
Make sure to find the time you need
To make your head feel clear

So I haven't had time
To read many prose and rhymes
Sneaking pretty words like drugs
From all the **** poem writing thugs
Hide up under the bar
I've only read two so far
Work is cutting in to my addiction
Reading and writing, my affliction
Maybe I can hide in the storage closet
That gives me time to write one comment
Jotting rhymes on my arm
Who said poetry didn't cause harm
Its my obsession
This is my confession
I cannot hide it anymore
I recognise I'm a poem *****
I go from one poem to another
"Feeling" them up like a lover
Then on to the next
For more word ***
Yep, I'm a ******-poemac
Addicted to poetry crack
Your pretty words are my drugs
And you **** poets are the poem writing thugs

A blue tourmaline sky hung above,
Wispy grass stood steady,
Only swaying, occasionally,
To the song of the bush cricket.

He lay down in the open air,
And traced unseen words across the sky,
Ink forever wet, forever dry,
Unwritten poems, lost to the afternoon.

.
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...