My head is nodding off into sleep,
My mind, shutting down for the night,
Yet the heart is vigorous, up and about,
Says it has poetry that I should type.

I know there's nothing tonight-

I feel no love or heartache at the moment,
No cause for gloom or celebration,
No nagging regrets or piercing guilt,
No urgent philosophical questions.

Yet the heart presses on,
And I've no choice but to let go,
And ease it with the calmness that only poetry brings,
Its verses acting as the best placebo.

After all, a writer's ***** is an impatient one,
And the only way to calm its creative agitation,
Is to feed it with words, ideas and emotion,
Woven together into a recipe of poetic composition.

Some people are like wounds which leave no scar
They disappear without a sign

You , were like a shooting star
That made life divine
you came with all your glory
the dazzle,the shine
But belonged to nobody

Though that once u were mine
Maybe my hold was not strong enough
But u made me realize
Some people are not to keep n love
they are gifts sent for a period of time

U made me feel special
the faintest Magic u sprinkled
And for that im grateful
Coz it was enough to change my life

I forever watched the vast sky
To catch a glimpse of your shine
I waited for another time
Hoped for something that will never be mine

I treasured every moment
with you That i spent
Coz u were worth Every bit
And always will be
That star i wished upon
That flawless ceaseless melody

There are the highs and lows.

High
When praise is the light
That glides you down  
The corridors of life.
When you've been smoking
All night
Your in another world.

Low
You walk around unnoticed,
Scraps in the wind.
Peoples words pound the
Deepest walls of your self esteem.

High
Confidence.
Fire.
Ambitious.

Low
Depression.
Dark.
Pain.

But sometimes, there will come a time when you can't tell them apart.  
Where the difference between high and low in like trying to figure out if you rather freeze to death or burn to death.

No matter which you choose, they're both lethal.

Lord, I cry out to you with a wrathful
heart.

I cry out with a heart of an anarchist
being shaped into a pacifist.

I want to put my fists through
the hearts of the oppressors.

I show them love.

I bleed onto my enemies.

I bleed for you.

all and all
we prat fall on small carpets -
half-lit by sunshine
and half - benighted
we bruise easily,
and as often
as a Jack O"lantern's
Smile
we pitch dark for a new Sit-Com
but never let them
see us let them fret
and never let them
see us
yet.

Yet.

The ancestral diet of Stars, being Other Stars
has left no scars, save open black and yawning vast.
No retrograde Oblivion... only galactic swirls
and elastic Space between worlds. that never last.

and Eternity.

my modernity nips and pleats my yellow teeth
after long whitening by paste and bristle. i chew the gristle
of the dead sow
and club the weaning pups of Cerberus
with an eyelash and a long blink.
i tread the narrows, flatly -
and conquer the quizzical  conundrums
by simply asking.  
My Rocket Science... laughing
at your grecian urn
to paint the herrings red.

i'm out of my depth.

but yes means 'yes' and we ' no' it.

if Nothing else.

You look at me and you see an enemy.

I look at you and I see a man who needs enlightenment
But one too afraid of his god to look for it.

Your hate could be the death of me for my compassion cannot hope to compete with a god.

Yet I am here
If you need a friend.
Where is your god?

Forsaken: crestfallen, and he's been
Vacant, but bestirring himself now to
Once more go out on a limb to seek,
If haply he could a new find pronto,

A girl who'd like a medicine his heart
Mend and fill, with her rib, the space
In his side with her perfectly cast love,
Fitting unto him for the rest of his days.