and that's the place,
where I go,
the mind nestles before it goes to bed,
and I struggle against your hold even now,

i show my neck

I trace the scars,
tokens,
of affection left,
for me.

And I wonder if you've,
if you were ever loved,

and I feel the brush of constant disappointment,
that lap over your soul,

and you'd erase it if you could get your weapon to reach,
and you talk with demons,
while they haunt me in my sleep.

and everyday I try to draw,
strength from those who prove to be strong,
and the memories a litany,
an unsung song.

I can't write it down,
I can't seem to spell it out

and we don't talk about it,
but I want to.

i didn't really know until
i took that polaroid of you;
you had your hand over
a candle flame and the
shadows dancing between
your fingers illuminated
the spare patches of snow
remaining on the playground.
there was no mistaking
the draining of my swimming
pool of ego as i witnessed
you staring out from each
ice crystal reflection in awe:
your smile tumbled down
the slide and spilled into laughter
while
your voice lilted up the rock wall
and sang in triumph at the top --
and this is when i knew i would
write another poem about you.

i forgot to mention  i've been
drinking my coffee black --
and sometimes, for the hell of it,
i write love and hate in sharpie
on my knuckles because i can't
get it tattooed. every now and then
i even try to carve your name into
the knots and whorls of my spine,
just so i can make believe
i am the man in that one song
you always seem to be singing.

A solitary tree exists in the centre of a barley wheat field
No one sits for miles
So no one cares how he feels
He grew from a seed till he stood tall and strong
But no seed grew beside him
He was all alone

Seasons would pass and crops would be sewn
Leaves would be shed and again they'd be grown
A lowly old oak tree he began to become
Then one day something happened under the surface

A seed started rooting before it had sprout
The ground opened up and the sprout shooted out
Now the oak he had company above the soil
But the sprout she was struggling through times of toil
She was straining hard to get sun and water
The oak soaked it up before it could fall to her

But down below, underground, something stirred
The roots of the oak began to move like a worm
They wriggled and writhed through the soil to the top
Where, as if though by nature an innate ability had been drawn
The roots of the oak tried to keep the sprouts roots warm
Just like a parent would for its child
The oak shared nutrients with the rest of the field

So; the water he drank would be evenly shared,
The sun he soaked up its warmth would be spread
The sprout it was grateful and soon, it did grow
And beneath the big oak, some care it did show
For when the oaks branches began to bend
They were given support from the branch of a friend

The roots underneath entwined and linked
But to the naked eye you'd have to think
Was the oak still alone?
Did he feel pushed aside?
Would this small tree last?
Or would it just die?

But look you, to this field of barley wheat today
An there sits two trees
Together, I'd say
For the oak had, some company
The little tree, had a friend
And the roots of these two, were linked
End to end

I need to just look at the little things
like the pattern of the clouds
in the sky, the way they look like
skid marks on wet sand,
just licked by the salty lips
of the vast ocean--
and yet you redefined my
whole perspective,
especially on the little things--
The small curve of your smile
and the sweet twinkle in your eye
became my everyday suffice,
and every simple movement
you'd make would knock me
off balance,
tumbling into the abyss:
the emptiness that comes when
someone who was your whole world
decides not to provide you
with the little things
you so desperately need
to survive

(1/10/13)

what i want is a woman like you, who can share
the same dream our whole life thru.
who wants to feel " love" every waking hour
and feel loves strength and its power.
a woman who can feel our every need and emotion
and still support our mistakes with complete devotion.

a woman that with each step she has found
that she will not be beaten to the ground.
one who has a positive attitude on life
and knows what we do - we'll do right.

let's join our hearts together and become one
then our hearts will never succumb
we will beat whatever comes our way
as we fight it day to day.

a woman who is not afraid to hold hands as
we walk down the street, and greet people that we meet.
a woman who does not want to be superior or inferior
but my equal, and ignoring remarks of other people.

i want a woman who is not afraid to fight
for what she thinks and feels and knows is right.
let's be equal you and i - for equality is a love divine

(C) L . RAMS

There is a big difference between
Kissing somebody goodnight and
Kissing somebody goodbye.