Realize that being able to write a good poem, doesn't mean you can make them stay.

Its a new day

She wakes from the nights sleepy darkness
Knowing the body under the covers doesn't fit her
But as she drifts in and out of the mornings gentle hold
Her dreams and mind forget the body under the covers
And she finds herself dancing in a waterfall
Swimming like a mermaid she reaches the edge of the pool
Shaking her beautiful long curls, and dressing
In her silks and flowing lace.
She smells the forest through a female nose
All the beautiful woods and flowers come alive within
Assuming the demeanor of a Princess
Walking the paths, with dust that sparkles
Settling on the ground behind her
But the dreams end suddenly, as the scent of coffee
Fills the room, and the sounds of cars passing outside
Bring her back, back into the here and now
The covers pull off, and the trousers come on, the shirt and boots that the day requires.
But as she walks out the door, to spend the day trying to be a man in a mans world, she gently smiles, knowing that her magical forest awaits its Princess, and soon she will return

by Lj Mark 2015

i wasted journals on you

Under the station.
Sat in the tunnel.
Wind rushes through a cold wet funnel.
Blowing in breezes, the homeless guy sneezes.
He's teasing his hair, it's so vary matted.
His hair as a birds nest , it's painted bright red.
Red white and blue, he's a patriot too.
Stuck under the station,within our great nation.
He hasn't a home, he's living alone.
Wife ran away, got an away day.
Sat on budget seats, so she cheats.
Cuddling up, under another mans sheets.
The guy under the station.
He's too tense to mention, the family he lost.
The cost of another, whose name was Bob, (he told me that.)
He can't get a job cause he don't have a home.
He don't have a wife anymore.
He's single,can't mingle,
Because nobody bothers with guy in the underpass, who once was adored.
(c) LIVVI