Boy just take it easy
Boy just take it slow
Please don't give up now
You have so much further to go

Put that gun down boy
Step away from the ledge
All the demons your fighting
Don't have to stay in your head

Let me help you boy
Let me be your light
You and I together boy
We'll give 'em a hell of a fight

This is it boy
It's time for war
With me by your side
It'll be easier than before

We got this boy
We won't back down
We'll take 'em all on
We'll knock 'em to the ground

Boy let's take it easy
Boy let's take it slow
All the demons you fight
Will no longer call you home

I fell in love with you. A silent love. A single sided love-only I felt. I prayed that you’d want me one day. Someday. That day hasn’t come. I promised myself I’d wait. That a shooting star would graze the sky-and youyou’d realize you can’t live without me. Life does not grant miracles, but Jesus hears prayers. He reassured me. He reassures me that I will be okay without your blue eyes staring into mine. That it is okay to let you go. I illustrated a tale in my head, titled “you love me as I love you.” But that novel is nonexistent-and that is alright. Because, maybe not today, or tomorrow, I will smile as you hold another. I will one day laugh with another. The book is not finished, and that is okay. The book no longer includes you. And that is alright.

We tend to see life,
from a third person view.
We look.
We feel.
We think..
but maybe too much of ourselves.
We forget the others,
face to face with us.

You see,
you can state,
that he or she's feelings matter..
but in a reality when you want,
they do not bring a thought to your mind.
You forget.
Who?

They do not return.
A fantasy is a fantasy.
A pray remains a pray.
God keeps them away,
because of what is face to face with you.
But you refuse to see..
because you want.

You forget that person.
That beating heart.
A smile that breaks into care.
You forget..
because you want.
You want what will not return.

Understand,
my heart played that dangerous game,
for many years..
without knowing the rules.
Love is as a magic trick.
Being blind is like another sad tune.
Our eyes see,
but our hearts are covered.
And once more,
I’ve been fooled.

I have returned,
and perhaps I am now just an unwanted visitor.
But now,
I am in need of you.
Poetry,
you are my oxygen.

As usual,
I come bearing a new concept.
I have grown.
Not since my last visit,
but from my time of first developing this passion.
In this course of growth,
I’ve come to receive advice.
Little things.
Do this.
Do not do this.
Some things I’ve come to realize as myself.

Happiness.
In the years previous to the current,
I can pin point the key moments of my life.
The high and low tides,
shall we say.
At high tide,
I was a joy.
My cup never empty.
And although grim,
we each face low tides in our lives.

But,
sadness is not the concept of my visit.
No, for it is happiness.
I have come to realize,
that I am pleased to be here.
Here as in my life.
I have blossomed.
Made decisions both poor and superlative.
I have become the sculpter of my life.
And of course,
I am joyful.
Happiness surround my heart,
although,
it is not as my previous years.
For yes, I have come to love myself and the world around, but it is not the same.

So now,
I come to bring upon a message.
See I was once handed advice noting,
“life will always be changing.”
For yes,
this is correct.
We learn to be happy.
Then we grow.
Our happiness shifts,
but are we not still gay in our daily lives?
It is not as the previous state.
Life is always changing.

You are precious.
You are beauty,
in the purest form.
Your heart skips no beat,
for a ballerina is rhythm.
She holds a head high,
and maybe it is all she has left,
because it is not her own.
You mustn't save them.
You mustn't save her.
For the possiblity,
in all the cruelty and confusion,
you are only able to keep youreself..
from slipping away.
One hand gripped.
Five fingers.
Four.
Three.
Two.
Shot down to one.
And you have vanished.

Poetry.
Beauty in each rhythmic line.
Beauty in the eyes of the author.
Beauty in the eyes of the reader.
A sigh of relief and pride,
shall always come to the face of the author,
as another pencil is set down after a masterpiece.

Poetry.
Paint as words.
Feeling as shortened breaths.
Sadness as a fantasized character.

Poetry.
"It's only for the emotional."
"The weak"
"Those who can't find another way to solve their problems, so they bury us in it."

The poet.
The poet does not always require sadness lagging on their heart,
to produce a blossoming garden of inspiration.
Poems share meaning,
with those who seek and understand it.
Poets can be oh so full,
of pure joy.
Poems can express happiness for each blade of grass,
in which we walk on barefoot in the summers.

The poet.
Our lives are not lacking color and liveliness.
We write to help others.
To aid in a crazy chaotic world.
Happy.
Sad.
We inhabit together.