were we meant to fit?

love is the pitter-patter of rain
on the old cracked concrete
worn from the feet that
walk upon it
love is the silence of the lightning
and the power of the thunder
the way that for just a moment
the world is silent and then
how the earth quakes!
love is the ferocity of a river
knowing that with every turn
you are closer to a waterfall
and the doom that accompanies you over the edge
love is the comfort of another being
because when simply near another you feel you're
not alone in the dreadful toil of life
that maybe, somehow, it was all worth it

if we cant know pain
what makes our time
on this wonderful, desolate earth
worth it? what makes us
strive
to be better, to do better, to
LIVE
better? what makes us value the
beauty
amidst all the suffering?

hatred and anger are only
the absence of love
and can be diminished by
the abundance of love

Helping
Hands
Hurt from
Holding
Hurting people

My fingers are weak
From holding on to you
My arm has been held over this ledge
for way to long
My muscles are straining
They are about to break

A poet is a castle
Having been built from stone
Seemingly impenetrable
With a moat around it’s walls

A poet builds these walls
To protect what’s within
The moat is filled with creatures
That will destroy whatever tries to come in

But castles are not perfect
The stone can crumble with age
The things within the castle will quarrel
The boiling *** will overflow

And when this happens
A poet writes about the anguish
That they have captured
The pain that they protect

They do not let anyone in their castle
Because they do not want them to get hurt
But castles, no matter how strong they seem,
In the end, will burn