I saw the old man circling the tree trunk
Weather beaten skin, bent gnarled hands
and piercing blue eyes

He seemed to study every knot and crack
in that ancient timber

Then without a word turned and picked up hammer and chisel

The wood chips then began to fly and like confetti on the ground lie soon in heaps some ankle high

Occasionally he would stand back and look but never once a rest he took

Mallet strokes both hard and soft some from under some aloft fell there with unerring skill always busy never still

Long into the night he worked now by the light of an oil lamp and so the tree stump 'neath his hand then became a work of art

At long last he stood and turned to me and said three words " that'll do lad"

I approached to see just what he'd done and there I saw the perfect rose every petal and leaf in place the slender stems in the breeze did sway

With no plan or picture he had made the start
And created the perfect work of art.


So what is creativity? Well that's your next challenge.

No love poems because they've been done a million times. This time something unique

I am alone on this planet
& I can hear the sun crying,
leaves whispering sweet nothings
to soothe me until the coming of the night.
That's when the shadows come out to play.

I smoke and I think. I lament and I drink.

I tell myself in a few months it'll be someone else's name; and I tell myself that name will bring about a contrasting feeling to what yours brings me now

I lie to myself

But still I act surprised when your name stumbles through every corridor of my mind, opening every door and sabotaging every room - yet still finding nothing   inside my intellect appealing to renovate into something beautiful.

I clean up the rooms, I tighten lock the doors, I set alarms but none of it stops you from breaking in and destroying everything again.

I rebuild stronger each time and when I think I've finally locked you out and I think you've given up, you carefully pick each lock and you decimate everything again, leaving nothing beautiful for anyone else that passes by to relish, forcing them to leave without any interest of coming back.

Why the **** are you doing this to me?

You've been incarcerated in my subconscious and you long to escape.
And I won't let you.

So you destroy everything in your sight hoping the destruction will force me to set you free. But darling, I've lost the key to the only entrance of my mind and I don't have the strength to break open the gates myself until I've rebuilt everything I've allowed you to destroy.

I continue to lie to myself

Red, red is the color of my hunger,
like the blood that flows from the cut
on my left ring finger. Like the rose that
withered on                  my front door step.
Like the color               of my cheeks or
the echoing of a bruise. Your hunger
is a darkness that is simply
nothing, like            a black hole of
constantly               collapsing stars
that shine                  like an angler fish’s
allure. Like                a deep, deep green
that feeds                   upon the beautiful.
Like a hypnotic            blue that envelopes
you in a trance              of one thousand pounds.

"Wait for me", she said to him
"I will wait for you, baby", he answered

And they keep on waiting
Trusting the love
Keeping faith on God
No distance
No time
Nothing
Nothing can stop them
Nothing can change their hearts

One day, all dreams will come true
She is for him
He is for her
God made them feel
What is destiny