I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

In the abyss of the Gringotts
laid the secrets buried deep inside
and the most hideous and the sinister ones
were the ones, guarded the most
to be seen not by ones with the faint heart
and repressed so to keep the evil apart
Alas but would they realize?
that the demons weren't conceived of the material creed
Not to be split or be torn apart
but to be confronted by the ones with a noble heart
And She wasn't blessed by a lion's heart
So she chose to become the demon herself
As only the demons aren't afraid of one of their clan
She was the master of self manipulation

As the ground gleam with the gold
As the grass glow in the glum
As the mist settles on the petals
As the blooms begin to sob
As the oaks speak nothing, but silence
As the leaves chatter together

Oblivious to the pains, and of the endeavors
Masquerading tears, hiding sorrows
Buried in the memories of the burning past
An inexplicable melancholy in the air
Intoxicating everyone in the twilight gloom
I hope this dusk never settles
And we could relish this moment together

Oblivious to her surroundings,
Ignorant of her consciousness
Lost in the labyrinth of her mind,
Lies, where the universe of her desire

Quiet, her heart sinking,
beneath the secrets of her *****
with a crave to chat,
and a yearn to cry,
her eyes spoke through a million signs

Softly, she took a step back,
in the fear of being prejudiced,
by the one, inside her,
the one, she thought,
was her sole confidante