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He’s no musician.
He doesn't make melodies through violin and guitar strings.
Yet he composed, haunting ballads in dramatic tempos,
Rhyming every lyric,
Harmonizing, making it dance in a musical euphony.

He’s no seamster.
Yet he cuts and he traces,
plain words and printed phrases;
Then he sews and he weaves it skilfully,
into a lovely concrete poetry.

He’s no painter.
He just has a palette of pigmented letters,
splashing colorful lines on his blank canvass.
A blast of contained evocative memories,
Streaking and shading mixtures of kaleidoscopic imagery.

He’s no storyteller.
Yet from him, I heard the most romantic tales-
One, of the moon and its lover sea.
Reciprocating shy glances, whispering I love you’s,
while kissing behind the sprawling mountains.
Though the dawn will come, they do not fear.
For after the majestic tribal sun leaves his stage,
There’ll the lovers be once again reunited.

He's no poet.**
Yet he writes--
stanzas and verses.
And oh! it revives,
every strand of emotion,
every sense of intuition,
Inside me.
A lyrical perception,
Sheer perfection,
Arousing perpetual reactions,
From me.
I am not good at this. I just want to express my pure gratitude, appreciation and awe for you.

"I am no poet. Never thought of myself as one. Just a guy dabbling clumsily in words"
Yet even, everything you do amaze me.


Thank you all wonderful people on Hello Poetry. I just realized this moment that this poem was featured as Daily poem yesterday.  I have never imagined any of my work will be posted as daily. Thank you all for the hearts, re-post,share, comments and messages. You really made my heart and soul so happy. :)
And most of all, thanks to the man who inspire me to write this one. :)
(04.14.2015)
 Apr 2015 Nastia Armilde
Carolin
His skin is soft as
pearls resting on a
clams tongue deep
on the oceans floor.
Waiting for the day
that they will reach
and kiss the shore.
Waiting for the day
that they'll see the
sun ~
 Apr 2015 Nastia Armilde
Liz
So now I'm alone again,
Wishing we were more than friends.
You made me feel wanted,
With you I was home.
Now I'm begging you please,
Don't go.
I'm not good on my own.

This blindside,
It's knocked me off my feet.
You feel guilty,
I feel dead.
I never should have showed you,
What goes on in my head.
Dear god what's wrong with me?

What is it,
That makes everyone leave?
Is it the way that I look?
Do I talk in my sleep?
You say it's not me,
But I'm the one you're leaving.
We're crying in my room,
My cries have turned to screams.

So now I'm alone again,
Wishing this would end.
Torn between running back,
And never seeing you again.
How do you take back,
All those things you said?
You feel guilty,
I feel dead.

This is what's inside my head.
You feel guilty,
I feel dead.
This is gonna be one angsty Pop punk song
When you love
someone that dies,
does the love die too?

If it did,
maybe it would
be easier to
forget you.
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