I hate reading
My old poetry,
Knowing how blue
I was.

I hate reading
My old poetry,
Because I knew
I was in a bad place.

I hate reading
My old poetry,
Because it shows
How lonely I am.

I hate reading
My old poetry,
Because it hurts
Me.

I hate reading
My old poetry,
For the pain
I was feeling.

I deal with
My old poetry,
Because now I’ve
Learned from it.

Walking among broken branches
tears never touching ground
they flow toward heaven, touching
stars, casting a light of
there own..

Men with broken hearts, never
rest in silence, they roam
aimlessly across each
sad thought, catching stardust
dreaming of broken promises
leaving much behind to
be cherished forever..

Faith and love may disappear
only for awhile, yet life goes on
with deeper knowledge special
wisdom blooming with each
heartache, broken maybe, but
so much understanding revealing
the trueness of heart..

Another time, another place
stars will sparkle for men with
broken hearts, alone shall walk
no more, there master has
gave them all they missed
once upon a time..

A heart so true, a life alone, was
never meant for any man, he also
has feelings, dreams, reaching
high, like any other man they live
to be happy, not broken alone to
walk among shattered dreams, these
men with broken hearts..


By Derena
© 2018 Derena (All rights reserved)

life is like
when you're
a little kid
and you
discover that
there is more
than twenty-four
crayons in the box
that there is
the possibility
of forty-eight colors
of sixty-four
of one-hundred and twenty
that there are
so many shades
of love and anger and peace and despair
and absolute bliss
and the ability
to express them all
are now
in the palm
of your hand

life is
colorful
beautiful
thought-provoking
lovely
soulful
heartbreak­ing
inspiring
and absolutely wonderful

every day is
a new sunrise
a new chance
to transform into
the butterfly you
want to be

go out there
and change the world, kid