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I could write an entire encyclopedia of my love for you and you still wouldn't care.
A thousand sands in time
holding hearts sublime
crying their tears again and again
watching as they slip away
what will be will be....

Wanting what I can't have
and scared to try something new
please let me just stay here and hide
bring me my surprise
kiss my lips one more time ...

You are so full of laughter
so full of love
its not that simple
don't you understand?
love is a beautiful dream
it's just waiting for me ...

Life is not what it is
life is random pen musing
a unhappy cry
crying the blues
no more songs,
It will be new for me
don't you see ...

What will be will be*

Debbie Brooks 2014
Every poet has a reason
Poetry he crafts
Healing in the hearts prison.

Every poet has a reason
Carefully he colours
His souls grey canvas.

Every poet has a reason
In his minds Infiniti
He sees every season.

Every poet has a reason
His hopes are his ink
Shattered on a paper

Every poet has a reason
Burdens he pens
That can't be told*

Every poet has reason
For Beauty of poetry
Is what he admires
Every reason has a reason to make a person write ....
A Tree of Life with roots of evil will die in the storm,
before it’s ever born.
The sun will be its father, and it will be raised by mother earth.
If it soaks up knowledge it will survive its birth.
Sprouting ideas while growing its spirit.
There’s a whisper in the wind... be quiet and you can hear it.
Doesn’t need to fear it, when the weather gets cloudy.
It knows its true colors and reveals them proudly.  
It cannot be not shy, because when it looks around.
It realizes every other tree is similar,
Just different branches in the ground all waiting to be found.
Discovered and loved; nourished by nature.
It realizes its reflection is its only true stranger.
Covered with bark so you cannot see the inner.
Shadowed by the dark, transforms to a sinner.
A stump at worst, and a home at best.  
Too much is in between to explain the rest.
Now let it be known, when the red leaf falls,
It’s the end of a season for no apparent reason.
Time to change its ways; it won’t take a few days.
Give it time to mature to reach its full potential.
It sounds so simple, yet gets complicated.
When it timbers down, something new is created.
It went from a seed to sprout, conquered any drought.
Now with a shout of thunder, it just can’t help to wonder.
"Why am I here, and what is my purpose?"
But if it received the answer, would life really be worth it?
I went to the waves ,
And my sorrows came crashing
There is a calmness at the sea you want to borrow , if I could with every wave I wash away the sorrow .
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