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I long for your touch or your smell and
the way my heart takes over my actions when I am with you
you're my everything
The land is dry
Barren, baked
Empty skies
Place of hate

Broken brown
Shattered slate
Crooked crown
Wicked wastes

Land of bone
Place of dread
Silent tones
Unmoving dead

An air of rot
The Pinnacle of Man
A darkened heart
Necropolis stands
My fingers curl around the pen
A silent plead
The only thing I need
Is to know where you've been

Tapping it against my temple
Hour after hour
Don't cower
I've only just begun to lose my mental

Let the silent flow know
Behind this pain
My strength speaks volumes
Waves can manipulate a crowd
To follow you

Gentle vengeance against a series
of unfortunate events
The suspense is what gets you
Not the multiple texts
Nor the 'I don't care' pretense
I've sent

If you'd just spent hours
Waiting on me
you'd be angry
But you see
I'd rather be
pain free

The beginning of a phone call
is the end to all
we've been through
The sweet relief of a phone line
click
without an "I love you"
Full of rage and hopeful. Weird combo.
taking a long drag
i lay back comfortably
exhaling
i watch the smoke rise
up
   up
     up
and dissipate
somewhere around the ceiling fan
but before the smoke alarm


it's nice being in cahoots with the universe
lead me onward
allure of indoctrinated
heavy footed steps

traipse in white letters
inked on white pages
then ask me, why?
He’s no musician.
He doesn't make melodies through violin and guitar strings.
Yet he composed, haunting ballads in dramatic tempos,
Rhyming every lyric,
Harmonizing, making it dance in a musical euphony.

He’s no seamster.
Yet he cuts and he traces,
plain words and printed phrases;
Then he sews and he weaves it skilfully,
into a lovely concrete poetry.

He’s no painter.
He just has a palette of pigmented letters,
splashing colorful lines on his blank canvass.
A blast of contained evocative memories,
Streaking and shading mixtures of kaleidoscopic imagery.

He’s no storyteller.
Yet from him, I heard the most romantic tales-
One, of the moon and its lover sea.
Reciprocating shy glances, whispering I love you’s,
while kissing behind the sprawling mountains.
Though the dawn will come, they do not fear.
For after the majestic tribal sun leaves his stage,
There’ll the lovers be once again reunited.

He's no poet.**
Yet he writes--
stanzas and verses.
And oh! it revives,
every strand of emotion,
every sense of intuition,
Inside me.
A lyrical perception,
Sheer perfection,
Arousing perpetual reactions,
From me.
I am not good at this. I just want to express my pure gratitude, appreciation and awe for you.

"I am no poet. Never thought of myself as one. Just a guy dabbling clumsily in words"
Yet even, everything you do amaze me.


Thank you all wonderful people on Hello Poetry. I just realized this moment that this poem was featured as Daily poem yesterday.  I have never imagined any of my work will be posted as daily. Thank you all for the hearts, re-post,share, comments and messages. You really made my heart and soul so happy. :)
And most of all, thanks to the man who inspire me to write this one. :)
(04.14.2015)
Love the one that makes you happy every day.
Love the one who you can always be yourself with.
Love the one who loves all of your perfect imperfections.
Love the one you trust with your life.
Love the one who makes you feel like a better person, and special and fun.
Love the one who makes you feel alive again.
Love the one who thinks you're most beautiful with messy hair, no make up and having a smile on your face.
Love who is patient and kind, and listens to all of your silly rants with just a loving  smile.
Love the one who always wants to give you kisses.

It's hard to find a best friend, in world of relationships.
If you find someone like that, don't let them go.
Love like that is special.
You are a poem
Comparing your white skin to paper
Blue veins to blue lines
your story written on you
like the ink on this paper
At one point i thought
You could be the one
That would make me close my eyes
When i kiss
At one point i thought
That what we had
Or what we might be
Is real
But when you kissed my tonight
I kissed your lips
Tasted your tongue
But not your soul

My eyes were open
I couldn't keep them close
Just like with all the boys
I kissed before
I am
A street without a name
A pictureless frame
A dull knife
A still life

I am
A question mark
A smothered spark
An unread book
A stolen look

I am
A blank page
An empty stage
A heavy sigh
A passer-by

I am
A ship with paper sails
A train on rusted rails
A flightless bird
A Dream Deferred

I am
An overcrowded mind
A word that hasn't been defined
A lighthouse that no longer stands
Two feet sinking in the sand.
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