will my endeavor be fruitless ?
did I neglect slumber,
live in solitary for days,  
numb my sorrow with alcohol
trap myself within the same walls I get lonely in
being only distracted by the scribbling of this pen on a paper
just to leave thou with discontentment ?
a poets worst nightmare;
(an underappreciated piece)

I am writing a poem for one who has words in the palm of her hands
like God has the earth
I am writing to one whom words bow down to her feet
like prophets to God while on his throne he seats.
Is my piece profound enough to make thy beautiful brown eyes water
or make your skin prickle with goosebumps ?
will my words speak to you in ways no one ever has that my piece becomes your drug when you want to flee from all that chastises you ?
I can only hope the first stanza grasps your attention
and you get lost in poetic bliss
and the last leaves you breathless
to the point you crave my kiss
to restore air to your dying lungs.
But that's probably just wishful thinking
your least liked piece is probably more breathtaking than my most cherished  
you leave your readers satiated by your words and rhythm that they now worship you.
they yearn to ease their angst by reading what you vent.
how intimidating it is to write a poem to a poet
great anxiety as they fixate their eyes on the paper
you hope, you just hope they don't roll their eyes in disdain at the last full stop.

lets go on an adventure
the grand marvelous kind
it will be a long story
of friendship and love
may it never cease
but stretch on for eternity

may we especially be alive
to our very last days

until we die
hand in hand
hearts matching
love crashing

You just don't get it
You're so caught up in your little world
This whole minute life you've created
It matters so much to you
The needs of society,
This social norm you follow
You've gotten so caught up in their train
In their "follow the leader", "Simon says" business
You've forgotten individuality
Identifying one's own passion and following it with all your heart, no matter the consequence
But no, you've fallen into the trap
You've forgotten how to breathe
The smoke has filled your lungs  
And you can't get out of their grasp
the grasp of
Their "selfie" world
Where movement is constant
And you never seem to pause nor ponder at yourself anymore
You keep moving, moving, moving,
Never listening, never growing
So caught up in this money game, in chasing your Piggy bank, your best friend and only companion
You don't care that your soul is dead as you do the "well-paying" job...
Your parents picked it out just for you
You don't care
That you've planned his life so perfectly
It's so well thought out... what could go wrong?
And if those doe eyes dare to mention something else... perhaps something abstract

You'll crush him like a flower
It was unexpected,
And he was so unknowing of your hatred of his bewildered mind
And dream so big
Too big
That he
listens
to your morbid, monotonous,nonchalant talk of
Money, of dreaming unwisely
His broken daisy even forgives
He gives off the purest scent
A Fragrance of forgiveness
Or a fragrance
Of falling into the
Trap
And wilting
As he and you live your last days
Of regret.
Pleading to
Tell them this epiphany, but it's too late
You've already set the game
And it's now theirs to play,
To either unravel your story
Or rip out your perfectly planned pages
And paint.

I sit
Perched beside my window
With this fresh cold air pouring into my room
There is no yellow light outside
It is cold and perfectly serene
I see a mist of blue over my garden
The trees stand silently
And the great pool of water does not stir
There is no movement so early in the morning
The birds merely chirp discretely
Awakening this world to a new day
This is the earth's silent hour
She is awake,
But her eyelids only just start to flutter
This is my favourite beauty
This silent, lonely
Tranquil beauty
Of morning...

The cold breeze is a reminder that I am alive
I am breathing
My tears will dry
It is time to focus
On me
On my life
Exactly what I intend to be

Oh, yes, I do hear you earth
I haven't heard you in quite a while
You softly call my name
And you urge me
To stand up
To no longer stifle myself
However, noted, this is a constant bashing argument in my heart -
Stifling my true self...
The singing Robin I was
The fluttering fairy I used to Dream of being
The galloping princess through daisy fields
Who sighs as she lands in the soil of the earth
Takes a deep breath
And sings out
Words that have flooded in her heart
She sings love songs
And words of praise

She is an effervescent, psychedelic beauty
That I realise...
I will be
On this silent morning
Of the earth.

Your Jacket is red
It is the perfect substitute for your arms wrapped around my waist... Around me...
You envelop me in warmth and love, my dear
You are the man of my heart
However, this is a poem of recognition of another who owns my heart
There is a sanctuary built for Him as he lives in my heart peacefully
He walks beside me each day and He guides me to be like Him
He covers me in a jacket too...
A red jacket coated in His Blood
He has given me perfect freedom and perfect peace
He has loved me from the beginning of my life
As I was a child beckoned from her sleep
Awakened by the sound of this new day, This new life made to worship you
Jesus, there is a sacred sanctuary for you in my heart
Please dwell inside of me
And do not allow me to forget
The Jacket coated in Blood that you poured on my soul
You have set me free
May my heart never put another before You
My True Prince in Heaven
The Lover of my soul
I worship and praise your Holy Name
Jesus, Jesus,
Dwell in me forever.