Two young lovers lie facing the moon
As they read lines of my muse passion
In other to discern the secret of my heart
Air of warm kisses kissed their thought
For they never parted not like we're fated to part

As petals of rose withered from my heart
Yet I am sorry to say I love you
For my mind is hungry and wait to devour you
as storm choruses your name into my heart
Maybe dead will be one to separate us at last

As the lilies attract so my love for you shine
jealousy flown away your love for my shrine
No deception for I filled your dream with kisses
As spinning ***** you reoccurred in my heart
I decide to go for the tree of passion will bear no fruit

In my heart I solely love you as a decorated thorns
Running still as water towards a turbine
Generating bewildered lights in our souls
As the energy continues to revamp our love
The springtide will make us fly as doves

Written by
Martin Ijir

"My Imagination comes from Curiosity,
A curiosity of LIFE,
A Curiosity of Sustenance and,
Defining the subject at hand,

As we look into the window of,
One's soul,
Through the soft glossy colored,
Window in one's eyes,
What is the dearest of treasures?

What is the sweetest of Pleasures?
Euphoria that over runs all measures,
Felicity sweetness of pursuing antiphon,
Happiness lies in the subduing of Hearts,

Whispering its vows as a tender pawn,
To those that are strangers to ardor,
Virtue is Imaginations strongest defender,
Homage and honor in the end fits like a glove,

When ones imagination leaps with splendor,
Makes my curiosity barnstorm and leap,
To satisfy my imagination with such provender,
To that of my curious IMAGINATION"

Poetry
to me
is taking
my pain
and making
it sing.

I am drunk on desperation
upon the clifftops of despair
Will I take the leap of faith?
or continue to live in fear?

Ashamed for feeling broken
I am trapped within my past
I must unravel these emotions
to truly be free at last

I want to confront this darkness
Shed some light upon this pain
Reveal the creepy shadow monsters
before they seep into my brain

Made to believe I was not good enough
is what keeps me feeling weak
I learned so young not to love myself
from the Death Mother’s critique

There's this child in need of healing
who keeps tugging at my sleeve
as I kneel to finally greet her
she softly whispers, “It’s safe to grieve.”