You can't just write a poem,
With no meaning behind its lines.
It can be about your happiness,
Or what goes on during your troubled times.

I personally can't write about a tree,
Without there being a story.
Such as me climbing up one,
Or an animal that lives in the tree.

A poem is nothing without morales,
And that is how it is.
There always must be meaning,
And I don't mean this as a dis.

Three months ago today,
I came face to face with you.
Felt a strong connection,
That I knew inside was true.

I never knew what it meant,
To truly be in love.
Until that day we came together,
In peace just like a dove.

You opened my eyes,
To what I couldn't see.
That I am really incredible,
Just like you are to me.

Being with you means everything,
More than words will ever say.
You light up my world,
Every single day.

To me you are my muse,
The reason I am here.
The reason I wake up each morning,
And never want to shed a tear.

Each day that we're together,
I feel even closer to you.
You are the one who holds the key,
The key to my heart that's true.

You ask
to have it all
you already have
the all of me
that silently whispers
I love

a mantra in my head
resting on your shoulder
my fingers tracing words
on your chest
that spell out
stay, be mine.

You live in colours that don't exist,
Unlike my twilight soul.
Yet we are so familiar
With the inhumane species
That leaves us in wreckages.

Our midnight cries will be sook
By the naïvety of tomorrow's embrace,
And we will be left stranded on the shores
Of our own despair.

We, the Midnight Wanderers
Take pride in our nocturnal sensations,
Stalk the moon in its exposed manner,
For we gain comfort from its loyalty,
And wish we lived upon its lies.

I'm an eccedentesiast
Don't blame me
I can't help it.
And I prefer to see other people
With smiles across their faces
Rather
Than a blood-smeared etch on mine.

“The point about hope is that it is something that occurs in very dark moments. It is like a flame in the darkness; it isn’t like a confidence and a promise.”