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Leonardo J Jul 2018
I.   I often look at your beautiful face, but that isn't why I love you.

you are looking in the mirror forty years from now,
and you have long surrendered to time,
your beauty will betray you,
it will betray us,
this you already know,
the heavens and hells tug at your flesh
slowly carving wrinkles
at the pillars of your youth.

II. The Ocean Blue

For on the surface they swim, and on the surface you look
but few so ever dive where a madman would go
to the dark chilly solitary crevices,
of where true beauty lies,
that is where I found you,
in the deep darkness
that is where I saw you,
alone, so beautiful, pristine,
cold in the dark.
  May 2018 Leonardo J
abby
We are the ones who are hard to understand
We'll be the last ones in the movie theatre
because the ending scene made us cry
We'll stop to smell the roses
because they deserve to be appreciated
We are the ones who will take the time
to get to know what keeps you up at night
We are the ones who will imagine
an entire future of adventures
with the people who show us love

We are the ones who will love you more
than we love ourselves sometimes
We will give you our strongest parts
in hopes that we can make things better
We desire to see you become the best you
to make sure that you always feel our love
We crave affection and appreciation
We give a piece of ourselves away every day
sometimes to people who don't deserve it
Our love is easy to take advantage of
and sometimes we don't get back
the love that we give away

When we hurt, we crumble and fall apart
We constantly have to put ourselves back together
We are more fragile than we like to give off
We carry our emotions on our sleeves
Our flaws have the ability to consume us
We aren't afraid to give you the world
but we are afraid to feel unloved
We want you to see what we see
We want you to understand where we're coming from

We are good people with good intentions
We are stronger than we look like
Not everyone can feel the way we feel
We feel too much, too often
We are not hard to love
We are something not everyone knows how to love
But you need to remember that
your worth does not change just because
no one is there to appreciate you, to remind you

You are not any less lovable
You are the most lovable person in the world
You are a light that the world needs
Your kindness is not your weakness
You do not need to change for anyone's acceptance
You do not need to stop giving love
just because you don't get any back
Your heart is the best thing about you

And one day when you least expect it
someone will notice you from across the room
and know exactly how to love you
They will think all of these things are beautiful
They will deserve the love you can give
They will fill the empty space in your heart
But for now, don't stop feeling
We are the ones who feel everything so deeply
We are the ones who can't give up because
We are the ones who will teach the world
how to love
We are exactly who we are supposed to be
Leonardo J Mar 2018
"Starry
Starry night
Paint your palette blue and grey
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the
Darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colors on the snowy linen land.
And now I understand what you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen
They did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now.
Starry
Starry night
Flaming flo'rs that brightly blaze
Swirling clouds in violet haze reflect in
Vincent's eyes of China blue.
Colors changing hue
Morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist's
Loving hand.
And now I understand what you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free.
Perhaps they'll listen now.
For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left in sight on that starry
Starry night.
You took your life
As lovers often do;
But I could have told you
Vincent
This world was never
Meant for one
As beautiful as you.
Starry
Starry night
Portraits hung in empty halls
Frameless heads on nameless walls
With eyes
That watch the world and can't forget.
Like the stranger that you've met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
The silver thorn of ****** rose
Lie crushed and broken
On the ****** snow.
And now I think I know what you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen
They're not
List'ning still
Perhaps they never will."

a song by Don Mclean, 1971
This song makes me think you.
Leonardo J Nov 2017
Smitten be the man who would stare into her soul and find what the eons have so carefully hidden, tucked away safely in an innocence that can only live within her. So precious her treasure, she goes about indifferent, that there are those who would let blood, who would traverse any peril, for a short moment with her, for those who know of her gold know that all else is naught.
Leonardo J Nov 2017
And so it is, the silence. For which is all completely mine,
the blank,
the nothing, neither structure, nor a void,
a solitude so profound, so great, it must be achieved,
not bludgeoned into,
A blank landscape in which I paint what I may,
undisturbed by your words I embrace your nothingness,
and I wait, and I breath,
and know,
that you do not remember me,
but I remember you,
I hold in total pristine,
your blank canvas and ponder what I may mark,
what I may paint,
what uninhibited freedoms I may to take to fulfill all things, all desires, all wants, because I know you so heartbreakingly well,
an exhaustion,
but I dare not disturb the silence,
not for a cry, not for a roar for it must be birthed of you,
But please understand, I remember you,
not your face, not your touch, surely not your voice,
the feeling you give me, I cannot bring forth through our sounds, our symbols,
it is not an understanding, but a realization,
if you only knew how the wind feels when I think of you,
you would resurrect , you would remember,
the feeling you gave me, thousands of years ago,
there is no memory of this,
only the essence remains,
the latent vibrations that exist only in the frequency that you flood me with,
a sensation only wrought forth in the breath and the stare of an old soul,
a tired soul that has loved much,
a soul has hurt much
and is all but one percent gold
I stretch out my arm and I want to release it from it's socket, take my hand
Leonardo J Aug 2017
God speaks to each of us as he makes us,

Then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear.

You, send out beyond your recall.

Go the limits of your longing.

Embody me.

Flare up like a flame

And make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don’t let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.

You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

-A poem by Rainer Maria Rilke   1875 - 1926
Translation by Joanna Macy and Anita Barrows
I hope this poem finds you, I read it in my times of need, may you find solace in it's words. I'm here for you.
Leonardo J Aug 2017
Today I saw a homeless man with a very long beard,
filthy,
sweating in the hot sun.
He rode a bicycle with a tall flag,  
cars sped by him.
A mother waited at a traffic light;
her daughter far, far away,
yet they sat side by side.  
Driving.  

Hot was the air,
and full of smog,
In the midst of the traffic the small orange flag fluttered,
as to signal to all,
that this man too carried precious cargo,
behind him a cart he pulled, he pedaled,
he towed;
a friend, a tired friend, and old friend, a friend in need.

In the eyes of this friend,
I saw an appreciation,
a happiness that glowed, radiated at the friend ahead who so dutifully pedaled on.
"SEE MY FLAG!
I too like this mother have precious cargo".

The daughter’s thumb glides up the glass,
then the thumb arrives back to the point where It started,
the thumb glides back up again,
with each glide that drags up the glass she further drifts from her mother.

The mother stares forward ,
she waits for the traffic signal,
she lets the passing of time flow through her,
it reminds her how the only thing all her years have taught her about time is that it is
subjective,
fleeting,
and that she must kneel to it.

The daughter smiles for the glass has pleased her,
The mother does not smile,
for she is not of the glass,
the mother, remembers when the daughter was 4 years old and all the daughter wanted was to be with her.
An eternity ago,
Yet less than a decade,
but she now knows the knack,
for even now she can feel it,
time is subjective,
she knows her daughter will learn as she did,
the realization and worship of TIME.

There is a solitude and loneliness that a homeless person must endure,
I cowardly imagine a world
where I had no one,
no one who cared enough to be anyone in my life,
to live in the street,
to be nowhere.
When the entirety of the populace pays you no mind.
When you do not count.

The daughter's thumb dances,
it quickly glides up the glass once again.
Her head has not yet turned to her mother,
The person who loves her more than anything in the world is next to her,
yet the unstoppable hourglass of days seems so plump,
so plentiful,
thinks the daughter,
as her opposable thumb does nothing for her evolution,
secretions of dopamine trickle through her brain,
and the heart in the glass now shows 263.

The homeless man tows a friend,
a friend who has accepted him despite his stench,  
his addiction,
his lack of home,
food,
money, car, hygiene;
The homeless man pedals on,
burning precious calories from the food that he doesn’t have,
I see a relationship in them void of judgement,
but full an unconditional love that we ever very rarely see,
outside of our Father;
our Mother.

The light changes green, and the cars begin to move,
the traffic catches up to the homeless man, cars begin to swerve around them,
I hear a bark,
the homeless man turns around ,
to check ,
to  see,
what his only friend, his most trusted, his only bond, his reason for existing needs.  

The daughter has not yet looked at her mother,  

Driving driving driving.
in the forgotten, in the filthy, in the animal; may you find the purity of that which we are truly impoverished.
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