there are two types of sadness

there’s the kind of sadness
we ignore and
try to get rid of it
by finding new things to do
or we find someone to talk to
by blatantly avoiding any type of conversation
about feeling sad
about having any feelings at all
and then there’s that kind of sadness
that takes over
and it consumes any activity we do
we know it’s there
and there’s no possible way to avoid it
so we feed it exactly what it wants
it craves the sad music
it craves the isolation
it craves the anxiousness
and the sadness comes storming in
it has no manners
here we are calling sadness, an “it”
when all it is
is a feeling
that most people
call home

You are not the love of my life,
You are the life of my love ❤️

The hurt may go away
but your memory will
forever rest in my soul.

One day I'll be gone.
Do not cry for me
It was always meant to be
Like this.
I, a traveler in this life
Journey onward seeking.

I think to places I've been
Tales and visions and glory seen
Stones of great cities far and wide
Speak to stories, times of great pride.
Snow capped peaks, spine of the world
Shimmering mystery of heights untouched
Give down in endless amber plains graze the antelope freed
From bounds as trains roll through the scene
Onward to horizons hiding lands unseen.

No longer am I there
Memories turned to ash and dust
Time, the destroyer of all
Spares none come nightfall.

This feeble mind of mine
Journeys faithful through sands of time
Remembers few and far between
The kind words and kind souls
Pierced the boundaries that lie
Between here and there
If only for a moment.

The sun and moon sharing the sky
Their love radiating from opposite edges of life's greatest masterpiece

Dear me,
Don't just sit
Rise, and pursue greatness.

Don't just watch
Go after what you want.

Don't just exist
Strive and start living.

Don't just dream
Work hard and aim for success.

Don't get tired
Keep hiking until you get to the peak.

They’d waited too long to say

“I love you”.

3 words. 3 syllables.

Yet they held millions of emotions unspoken.

and now that they’d done it, they wouldn’t,
couldn’t, stop

they told each other all the time. In the end of the argument and before the good news.

In the middle of the storm, even though it was hard to see, and after, when the raging winds had settled on a breeze

before the rising sun turned the sky pretty colors and after it flickered out and faded away into the dark

Underneath the stars that their love had been etched into

There was no love until death for them. Because it would never stop. Their love was beyond. It rose above any border that would dare to try and stop it. There was no finish line

because they were each other’s end game.  
-L.R

Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.