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Yes, Poetry is about Heart Ache and our life experiences
Yes, Poetry is about our love for life.

About our passions
About our dreams

But as Poets, we are forgetting the most important things in life.

OUR YOUTH

Our up and coming POETS
They need to know LIFE

Life that is GREAT
And has many ADVENTURES

That will make them FLOW with POETRY

Like no OTHER

INSPIRE

Write about good times in life

The fun you had
The love you have
Yes, were depressed, but ALIVE

Inspire our youth in any way

TELL THEM TO DREAM
  Dec 2014 Cyrille Octaviano
N
Open books with black covers containing stories never good enough to be read, words never long enough to contain the fragment of a thought. Maybe that's why I turn to putting my own in the complexity of poems, maybe that's why I'm never satisfied because I can never say what I mean. Sometimes I don't think you know what I mean, so if you haven't been able to read the between the lines; I miss you. I've been looking for so many ways to say it but none of them have been enough to make you come back. The thing about poetry is its never enough to make you feel the way I do. It'll never make you realize that ink seeps out of my pens with the purpose to make you feel something; but it never does. The thing about poetry is that you need to be empty to write it and that's why I learnt how to after you left. The shut door opened a new one which was the will to write about all the broken pieces of myself. The thing about poetry is it requires to see life through the eyes of things unspoken. Little do most know that mirrors and picture frames can speak novels of things forgotten which is me to you. The thing about poetry, is that I'm running out of things to say. I'm running out of words to spray on city walls, or carve in the wood of dying trees. The thing about poetry is that this isn't it. This is the goodbye, good luck. I have nothing more to bleed out for you, my mind is turning to dust. This is the last "I love you" I have left to write about, this is extended hands with empty palms.
This is the apology. It's me trying to feel something more than what I do, and as hard as I try to get there, I can swear that in nights of deafening silence I can still hear the sky screaming out your name.
Idk how I feel about this one
The ability to recreate every moment you live and
imbue it with something as unique as "you" itself...
The absolute involvement with every moment of your life brings a great level of insight into life...
She
There was this little girl,
So innocent and pure
Until there came a day,
a trap-she was lured.

She tasted cruelty;
violence unveiled
before her very eyes.
A surprise was then revealed.

The world showed the truth;
The mask was uncovered,
Behind all the beauty,
Evil was discovered.

She wept and wept
day after day
With her helpless little heart,
the demons came to play

She did nothing more
and nothing less
Instead, isolated herself
from all the rest.
Revising another poem from the past

© Cyrille Octaviano, 2014
Staring into a blank wall,
Seeing shades of grey
Droplets of blue diamonds
He won't let them stay

Nearing the home,
withdrawing the heart.
Once a week he goes away
paying the debt; playing his part

The storm starts to fade
after he hushes the wind
The rage that once boiled,
froze into a friend.
© Cyrille Octaviano, 2014
And I start to reminisce
each moment slowly
I shut my eyes,
remembering your smile
I shut my ears,
remembering your voice
Why must I weep
over a ghost that
fails to haunt me?
Is it the part of me that believes
that what I dream is possible?
Come back into my loving arms
and whisper to me my name
I don't think you know
who I truly am, but
only until we meet
*again.
© Cyrille Octaviano, 2014
Tiny, puffy clouds
were once above my head
My feet were there below,
steady and firmly placed.

I can walk a straight path
with no complications
Even in twist and turns
and a loss of directions

Rarely do I trip
or dangle from the branches
The weeds are growing taller
but facile to remove.

I traveled further
in the long, narrow streets
The constant flickering lights,
a very mysterious aura

I headed straight,
but something made me turn
the clouds were on my feet
I suddenly disappeared.
© Cyrille Octaviano, 2014
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