Cry.
Don’t cry,
Do not hang your head, my neighbors.
You cannot choose when you die,
When your woes are straining,
The careful muffled sound of heartbreak
Of the deep silence of the souls.
A giant **** in his own backyard,
It is “ride or die”.
And you can choose how you die.
And nothing more, and nothing more.
And we’re no more, and we’re no more.
But be alive, alive and only,
Alive and only to the end.
Wind, keep singing for them, do not wane,
And in it, now forever.
Arise, arise now, brother-soldier.
Freedom is never free.

In your heart, in my heart
I had sung an ancient song to you.
And then I wrote in blood, within my soul. Death is but a wisp of shadow,
where no one is.
O Lady,
awake, awake...

Cold January. Heated furnace.

And you, my dear, refuse to sleep.

I think of you.

And lights across the window sweep,

And droplets freeze upon its surface.

My eyes meet yours. We dim the lights.

And suddenly, as one, we’re breathing

My hands, around you, interweaving,

I recollect the gone by nights.

My heart is burning, raging wild.

You place, your hand upon my chest.

Confess, softly whisper, “child...”

Only the silence when I can’t deny it.

The best place for writing poetry is sit by a river.
especially when leaving a loved one,
if you know she’ll go back there eventually,
in some week, in a month, or a year,  you would be able
to write with a loudest mind
but you must
know you’ll never see her,
and so it’ll be merely a monologue

Begin the poem with separation,
writing,
selflessly giving it everything in you
out of selfishness, out of need for sympathy.

My darkest art is different shades of the same color.

I wasted my nights writing;
till there was no lead in the pen
when I started reading my verses,
I imagined myself in a large auditorium,
in front of a single person.
because I wanted to make her love me.
With her bottomless loving eyes
as she refused to give it up willingly,
So I wasted my nights writing;
I didn’t know how to love her.

Neither side won,
neither side lost.
How many people are there
whose wishes have been so answered?
Voters like me who seemed to have had their way,
Sit down, ******,
pack your bags
and prepare to depart the Oval Office.
The future is ours.