I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

Words are meaningless
Love is beautiful before it breaks you.
Tears change nothing.
Real is rare and unacceptable.
Hope dies swiftly
Sharing yourself leaves you empty
Exposing your soul is suicide.
And I am no one special.

From the earth a kingdom rose;  
Not of bricks nor made of mortar
But of seed, and soil and sun
And of sweat and stone and water.
A garden waits within my hand;
Tomorrow's paradise concealed.
All I need is time and land
Until my heaven be revealed.

I remember the evening
that we sat clinging
to paper cups
of coffee gone cold

over secrets spilled and memories told
two bodies cursed
with hearts grown old

behind your eyes
I found new worlds
A winding road stretched out for miles
to a small cafe at the end of the isle

Sweet pastries filled the mouths
of those who sat beside us
and stayed for a while.

How the hours went by,
people just passing through
The descending sun ending
a forever with you.

On nights like this
we tell our stories,
and turn up the volume on all
our deepest thoughts

I tell you my secrets
and you show me your paper-napkin wishes
I say I love you
and you let your body speak on your behalf

Tonight our smiles
echo through every room,
as we laugh in unison
till the morning is jealous