I know it really is a pity
The way you treat me now
I know you can’t forgive me
But forgive me anyhow.

The ending got so ugly
I even heard you say
You never ever loved me
But could you love me anyway

I dreamed about you baby
You were wearing half your dress
I know you have to hate me
But could you hate me less?

I used up all my chances
And you’ll never take me back
But there ain’t no harm in asking
Could you cut me some slack?

I’m naked and I’m filthy and there’s sweat upon my brow
And both of us are guilty, anyhow.
Have mercy on me baby, after all I did confess
Even though you have to hate me, could you hate me less?

It’s a shame and it’s a pity
I know you can’t forgive me
The ending got so ugly
You never ever loved me

The wind sweeps the leaves from their home;
Chilling the air and silencing heat.
This is the season of passing
Solstice of winter sleep.

Though the cold wards many,
I do not own such luxury.
My mind sits restless,
focusing on carrying my weary feet...

This weather invades my heart,
as it is shrouded over me,
by stingy fridged lips
sapping the strength from every beat.

So as my joints stiffen,
As my lungs freeze,
My resolve dissipates
fading into the darkness that kisses my heels.

I must keep moving...
"till I hear the death bell's ring
or I reach my randevu.
Spring

I am not alone
and neither are
you.
Feeling sad or angry?
Feeling lost.
This is for you.



(Tackles and hugs)

Now smile please

:D

They say the best Warriors
make the best poets.
For art can not be made for the sake of art,
but by the reflection
cast forth by the creators soul
                        their experiences
                              their emotion.

Though my hand has yet  learn to write
my heart does not need such lessons.
It has studied well from adversity of strife.
                                                                     of love
                                                                        of life

It is forever scarred in the shape of art
Joined by a community
Who's souls bleed to paper
in the form of poetry.

Poetry that takes many shapes
Holds many secrets;
Constructs beautiful stories
that express their agony,
                  their joy,
                      their thoughts,
                          their perspective.

If this is how poetry breaths.
How can I not be a poet?

As I join this guild of artist
I will  learn this art
                this wondrous expression
                           this mystery
For how could I not?
When my heart is there
and my mind races toward it
As too, the hearts and minds of many before me
                                                                    many with me
                                                                              and many... to come.

I haven't been this relaxed
In longer
                than
                         I
                           can
r e m e m b e r