Lovers become quiet
When their bodies are raging,
The most perfect silence
When entwined and becoming one.
They search eachothers soul
Because each is lost without the other,
They fight and abandon
That they might reunite passionately.
Their spirits are free
And lurk the earth finding others
But not themselves,
Led by the estrangements of the heart.

They are like crazy peoples,
Lovers are,
Because they fight battles alone
Against the world
And submitting to the moments
Of lustrous passions
And in pain because life
Does not recognize such enigmas.
Lovers can only love,
Led by strings of violinists
Who take them where they have
Never been,
Going and going back again
Into the ****** of music
That plays quick beats and sad tunes.
Lovers are perpetually hopeful
Always wanting and taking the
Next step in a ladder to nowhere.

Lovers make mistakes
And do not learn from them,
Or sadly love the pain so much
They go back for more.

Alone in their own darkness,
Lovers find eachothers
Like tiny embers of burning
Souls filling the vastness of the void,
They cling to one another like
A child to a mother
And then rebel like a youthful
Suffocation.

Lovers are not stable,
They believe in God
And dance with the devil.

Lovers are alone,
Because they need seclusion
So that when they are free from
Themselves they can find something
Else to love,
They are in inexhaustible oil
To the lamp in a dark ravine,
They count drops of rain
And save their tears like memories.

They are empty and full,
Philosophical fools that love
Even those who reject them
And chase the uncapturable bird,
Flexible hearts of desirous fires.

Lover are the truth of humanity,
Crazy beautiful things
And they go loving
And hurting the beautiful life.

Everything happens for a reason;

When he breaks your heart
it is for a reason
you may not know but
he knows and God knows

When your grades are failing
it is for a reason
maybe you didn't study enough
or you underestimated it
only you know and God knows

When your friendship falls apart
it is for a reason
maybe you didn't reach out or
you've found another friends, better
only you know and God knows

And when life hits you so hard
it is for a reason
to give you lessons or
to give you a burden
you decide

It's your choice
whether you want to look
at the good things or the bad things
only you know and God knows

and all those things that
happen to you in life
they happen for a reason;
your family, your friends,
your ex-lovers, your 'almost',
your downfall, your glory days,
your actions, your instincts

They make you who you are today
so be grateful for each day
as everything happens for a reason

– billiondays

Harvester of words gathered in the
Trenches of life between
The dawns early fire
And the dusk of our gathering,
A reminiscent corridor that takes
A reader and places them in
The belly of your understanding,
Digestive reading.

And we become all things
All at once
To find a meaning to the wonderful
Chaos,
The stubbornness
Of the human condition
Gazing at broken things and finding
Light in the void of humanity.

You poet
Armed with a language unique
To the written word of your being,
The benevolent ruins of time
Assaulting the moments
Gazing into melancholic skies
Bringing them to read our hearts.
Bringer of wisdom from our own
Stupidity,
Spinning the compass to one another,
Bringing closer the faceless
Soul breathing in words,
Syllables like embers raining
On the angels watching us suffer,
We compact the understanding
Into a small requiem of experiences,
Ripping the face off of the world
And giving it our own touch:

I, you, We,
Poetry the birth of ruins
And dissolves into forever,
Poets, bringers of languages
Never spoken like dictation of spirits,
Time before time,
After and before collide
Birthing the momentous inkling.

Take it,
Its yours,
Poets living in the dream
Suffering the expense
Of the reality,
Constellation of our suffering....

Poets, living martyrs.

Poor little chameleon
Sitting there so blue
He's played so many colors
He's forgotten his own true hue

I'm frightened
I'm terrified
I'm absolutely unnerved.
Every moment
Every next heartbeat
I stand here
Clenching my phone.
Waiting for that next message back from you

Because that means you're still alive. And for a second I can breath.

My friend tells me of this girl who he felt connected with him more
than anyone else.
How she breaks the mold of everyday life when he's with her.
I told him there's a girl like that in my life.

My friend says that if he was with a different girl,
it would feel like settling for less.
I told him I agreed with that.

He looked real serious.
He said,
"Do you ever wonder? If that girl,
the one who breaks the mold,
if she would just be settling for you?"

I had never thought of that before.

Poets are..
Forgetful. But they remember everything. They forget appointments,and what time dinner is.But they remember what you wore,and how you smelled…
On that first date.
They remember every story you've ever told them- like ever. But forget what you just said.
They don't remember to water the plants,or to take out the trash. But they don't forget how to make you laugh.
Poets are forgetful.
Because...they are busy remembering the important things. Like how to love someone with all their heart.

Randy McPeek