Because on the darkest nights
I see faint rays of the purest light,
And among the fatal deceptions
lost in exalted sorrows,
       I know that there is still poetry.
When the words are welled
Inside a throat like a fire
Waking from its slumber,
Rain the embers to paper,
      The words like a familiar pain,
      Speak as the darkness speaks,
      Take in the honest friend,
      Let them take you to tranquillity.
Because when I am at my blackest,
The poem understands me,
It speaks to me,
Cries with me,
I give my darkest to its white surface,
       A cave serrated by light,
      The words will speak in the night,
      They will light the way
      To new dawns,
And you are never alone
If you have read these words,
Because through them,
We become as one.

What sustains it?
Open soul,
The clarity of mind
Let loose in the garden of night.

    Orchestral branches,
Momentum toward the spiritual
   On a gleam in your eyes.

   Receive the moonlight
On the waves of your hair,
   The architecture of my seductresses.

The darkness spins its webs,
  Your touch invents a moment,
Reality unrealistic,
   The night,
        a fountain of desirous hearts.

You could not wait til halftime to check your poem or add one.

2. You wrote a sonnet about pretty horses. (Broncos)

3.You wrote a poem about kittens.(Panthers)

4. As the ball soars through the air, you are reminded of a bird in flight.

5. A Superbowl commercial inspired a new poem.

6. You paused the game with your DVR to write a piece.

7. You think the referees look like majestic Zebra on the African plains.

8. You ponder the coin toss and wonder of chance and philosophical questions as to whether life is like a paradox, then write yourself a poem about it.

9. When a tackle is made, you think upon the animalistic nature of humanity and write a haiku about it.

10. There is a notebook and pen right next to your remote and munchies.

11. You have a neck ache due to looking at your hellopoetry site and then back up at the t.v.

12. You write  Peyton Manning farewell poem.

13. The commentator of the game makes a poetical statement and you use it in your latest poem.

14. The crowd boos a player and you feel compelled to write the pain of number 94 in a poem.

15. Last but not least, you might be a poet if you are reading this and the game is on.

You can't finish Spring cleaning
because every old thing becomes
Inspiration for a poem.

2. Instead of planting that garden you
Promised yourself, you write about
Your metaphorical one.

3. Because you're a romantic poet,
You ruined your flowers by plucking
Each petal in a She loves me, she loves me
Not tirade.

4. Every stupid bird is a new poem.

5. April rains bring about the
Melancholic poem inside you,
And you love it!

6. Instead of playing with your
Kids outside, you write about
It instead.

7. Even though you are allergic
To everything, you take that stroll
In the park you write about
So often.

8. Spring's promise is really just like
The New Year's poem you wrote,
New beginnings and all.

9. While digging through your Spring
Cleaning, you find your old poems
And decide to post them on
Hello poetry.

10. The garage is a mess, nothing
Is getting done, but in the poem you just wrote
Is about the hard work it was.

11. You learn the name of
new birds and flowers to make
Your poem fancier.

12. And finally,
You really don't like Spring,
But its a season, and we're poets,
So yeah.

You buy flowers and a card as an excuse to write a poem, even though you're single.

2. When " How Do I love you, let me count the ways"... And you literally lost count.

3. When Cupid calls you corny.

4. When you make a poem out of those little heart candies.

5. Cupid throws up a little in his mouth after reading your exceedingly sweet sonnet.

6. You bought your kid Valentines day cards for his class and wrote haiku's on every one.

7. You ponder the box of chocolates, and how it is like life, though it sounds familiar, you title your poem "Life is Like a Box of Chocolates".

8. You buy roses and a card filled with your sweet words for your ex, though she calls you a stalker, you are glad she called you.

9. You recite Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, and you're in the shower.

10. You suddenly bulk up on Pablo Neruda, ready to take on the romantic world.

11.As you look at your hellopoetry site while driving, you see a smear of blood on the windshield, two small wings, and what looks like a bow and arrow.

12. When you write a poem and have no one to give it to, suddenly Mom is the best Valentine ever.

13. When you go on the big date, secretly you have your own penand paper in your back pocket, writing verses when you excuse yourself from the dinner table.

14. When you write a poem for your wife, your side girlfriend and your mistress, just because it feels romantic, it is Valentines after all.

15. When you give the wrong poem to your wife, instead of the mistress.

16. Your girlfriend is suddenly a diabetic due to your sweet poem.

17.When you write a poem on hellopoetry and dedicate it to your Valentine, even though you don't have one.

18. When you buy yourself roses and a box of chocolate, write a beautiful poem to yourself, you might be a romantic poet.

19. When your secret admirer is you, the secret poems don't have the same effect.

20. Last but no least, you might be a poet when you wonder if Cupid is lonely and write an invite in the form of a sonnet to see if the little guy will join you for a poetry reading.

You **** a reindeer while checking your hellopeotry account and driving.

2. Every Christmas Card you send has one of your poems in it.

3. At the family gathering you make everyone listen to one of your poems.

4. You write a poem about a romantic elf.

5. You send Santa a sonnet of what you want for Christmas.

6. You go to the mall Santa and ask him for one of your poems to become a daily.

7. Instead of gifts you pass out poems to loved ones.

8. You write a haiku about yellow snow.

9. You feel great sorrow for the turkey you are stuffing and write a poetic eulogy.

10. You buy yourself a brand new pen and pad and give it to yourself.

11. Instead of cookies and milk, you leave Santa a sonnet.

12. You ponder Rudolph's red nose and how rough he must have it.

13. You wrap the gifts with your poems hoping someone will actually read your poetry.

14. You write a poem titled "Black Friday" and make a wondrous philosophical poem about how the maddening crowds beat you to that 41inche flatscreen.

15. Instead of Christmas carols you stand and perform spoken word in front of neighbors homes.

16. You hold your kid's gifts hostage until they read your poems.

17. You write a poem about the holidays on hellopeotry.
(Yeah you know ones coming)

18. In a fit of poetical rage, you write how the elf's must be set free or get paid for what they do.

19. You write a farewell poem to 2016.
(Yeah you know its coming)

20. Last but not least: you might be a poet when Santa has you on the naughty list for writing cheesy poetry.
(Im guilty)

Your body is a Heavenly crime;
I am caught like a mountain
To the sky
And I am certain of your Angelic presence:

I am absent of myself when your naked
Light forms another plain like
A light of bright silhouettes dancing
At the precipice of eternity,
The night in your hair as
The moonlight dances a seduction
That makes Angels fall.
The nape of your neck to your shoulders
Where I mapped my world in a
Cascade of kisses and I am sure
I saw your wings in the dancing shadows.
A thousand sighs around your
Waist as I trace forever with
My touch,
The tongue as it tastes from
A fountain of your flesh:
Daily I drink of you.
Your thighs like a petrified miracle
Tormenting my eyes,
They close that I might drown
The other senses between them.
A painful tenderness in your body,
I make love to an Angel.

The wind wears your body;
I open the curtains of your being,
My touch wears your skin,
The spectre of your silhouette
Is a ghost of my desire:

We tear the night apart.

Torn into pieces
Every bit of you complex-
Desirous nature to please

Come one come all
To the show
Of pleasing others eyes

Be it far from yourself
To be yourself
For retribution is swift
On originality

The world calls you,
The one that pleases the others,
Not you but the other one

If you are not yourself,
There is no other
To be accepted outside or in

You were in the rain
With the drops gilded by the sun
Dripping on your smile with
Their moist wings.
The rain with its transparent
Eyes and crystalline forms
Reach out to me from memory,
Memory which is carried by every storm
Like tears on the window
Ringing you face to my mind.
They play my heart like liquid
Violins, an orchestrated thunder
In my pain.
I remember when you left,
It was raining
Pouring down like broken glass,
I feel your presence in every drop.