Those moments in your arms,
that birthed eternity,
of our fragile love.
Oh! how i want to niche myself ,
deeper into your chest.

As we laid beneath the moonlit skies,
soaking the descending silver stardust,
your hands woven into mine , faithfully,
come then let me spin my life into yours.

As your chestnut eyes gaze the infinite heavens,
let me tell you then,
i want to carry the galaxies over,
all of them , aligning in your eyes.

All those rains we shared,
my soul drenched ,
my wounds cleansed.
You became my flawless sanity.

Now that you breathe,
life on my lips.
"What am i to you ?" you riddled me ,
Let me tell you then,
you're my ink , pure and absolute,
you are  closer to me than my jugular vein.

Why is hellopoetry.com black and white? I've always wondered about this... why my colorful photographs are required to travel back in time. How does this effect the poetry in any way, shape, or form? But I understand the wisdom of this design now. And it sets a great metaphor for all of the people of the pen involved in this truly noble motion, this secret society for people with passion, talent, and troubled minds and souls. Hello Poetry is black and white not because it has to be monochromatic and modern, but because us poets fill these pages with enough inovativeness and color already with our words, ideas, thoughts, songs, senryus, ballads, heartbreaks, insecurities, that adding literal color to this website would be overwhelming. These soft undertones of gray, black, and white may be considered drab and depressing to some, but to us poets it represents timelessness. And this is probably why we are all here. Hourly, daily, weekly, monthly, or even yearly publishing poems. Because we all know we are not going to live forever, and we are so entirely insignificant in the broad scheme of things and of the universe itself, that it is a bit comforting and helpful to have this coping mechanism or soft blankie to calm our fears, that this literature we write, however insignificant it may be, is absolutley permanent. And that maybe someday it will be remembered so a small bit of us may live on. Tom Riddle knew the needs and wants of man kind before anybody else realized it. Maybe he was just trying to cope with the fact that he is insignificant. These poems are all our Horcruxes so *viveamus per camenam nostram.

I wrote I love you in the sand at the beach
Tide swallowed the words and drowned them
But the waves were not the reason for impeding speech
My awkward asocial character is the one to condemn
  Now the words are gone like the tearstains on my sheets that I have just  bleached.

For a brief moment
this felt more
fact than facade