Not living your life is like dying, only it takes longer.

Thundering on the tin roof
Splashing on the grass
Pouring down the gutter
Tinkling on the glass

Running along the railing
Dripping down the window pane
Pooling at the bottom of stairs
Rusting away my bike chain

It's beautiful and dangerous
Dripping down my face
Clotting in my lashes
Falling with a magic grace

It splashes on my hands
And makes me dance and smile
Soaking me to the skin
Wishing it would stay awhile.

Plates of chicken,
Beef, lamb and pork,
Cherries and grapes,
Fresh from the stalk.

Salads and noodles,
Lettuce, tomatoes, corn,
Not a glass out of place,
Not a prawn.

A enticing odour,
From bottles of wine,
And perfect food,
The finest of fine.

On a separate table,
With red velvet cloth,
Lies stacks of deserts,
More than enough.

Cakes and cream,
Puddings and pies,
And in the corner,
A pavlova lies.

An incomplete job?
Not in the least,
Look at the food,
What a feast!

Best friends are the people who tell you who you are
And show you who you're not

You look at that picture and you see
White tipped waves at the edge of the sea
Beside the sea is a field of flowers
Having a wash in a sunshine shower

I look at that picture and I see
The hand prints of mermaids under the sea
Riding the waves is a pod of whales
Drowning lost souls with the swish of their tails

He looks at that picture and he sees
The unhappy salt tears that fill the sea
He watches the poppies bleeding red
Remembering the blood that has already been shed

She looks at that picture and she sees
Her loved one trapped under that sea
She sees the gunshots ringing in the distance
A reminder of many soldier's persistence

They look at that picture and they see
The blue of the sky and the blue of the sea
They see the brushstroke of weathered cliffs
And the faded hopes of what ifs?

We look at that picture and we see
A world of horror reflected in the sea
The fields of flowers request peace
But men's cruelty will never cease

The artist looked at that picture and saw
A whole range of possibilities to explore
She painted her mind and her heart
Onto that canvas to make a work of art

Poets are almost always depressed or depressing
Don't stereotype people
And be unique
I am going to be a not depressed poet
I am going to find beauty in the world