His laughter accompanies hers like harmonies you've never heard
Their hands fit together as if moulded to do so
Her eyes look into his with more love than he has ever seen

They're perfect for each other
Now if only I
Were she

- p. winter

the sun's goin down
as my journey begins
surfin the desert wave of the milky way
on a leather saddle
the wind whistlin harmonies to my lullabies
the stars guidin me to nowhere
the horse's tail swishin
my home village fadin
further into the distance like a tumbleweed blowin
i'm leavin for the desert
you'll find me findin myself
straw in my lips as i hum
my breakup blues

- p. winter

How miserably
Yet freeingly
I cry

- p. winter

i am an iceberg

there is more to me than meets the eye

but even when surrounded
by those made of the same values

i can feel myself
slowly melting

away

until i am exactly
as i seem

- p. winter

dont be afraid to hurt me
with the truth

talk to me
scream at me
but baby

please dont lie to me

- p. winter

she was gentle
refreshing
her presence was felt
but in the blink of an eye
she could vanish
with the wild wind in her hair
and in the absence
of her free spirit
all was eerily still

- p. winter

The words in the answer
"I'm fine"
From the lips of one who's not
Are as much of a lie
As those in the the question
"How are you?"
From the lips of one
Who couldn't care less.

- p. winter

you kissed my freckles one by one
til they no longer were imperfections
but artwork marking who i am
worthy of being displayed

- p. winter

you can see smiles on all the faces
of people pretending to be alright
but if you look hard enough
you'll also see
their lie in being
polite

- p. winter

the streets are filled with lies
of "how are you?" "oh, i'm fine!"s
strangers smile away all of
the battles that they hide
nobody's fine
nobody's great
it's not polite to articulate
the struggles that you're going through
but that's fine
how are you?

- p. winter

although the butterfly stage is
wonderful in every way,
where hearts race and hands shake
with every second of eye contact,
there is also a comforting beauty
in the kind of love that is
just existing together
in silence
drawing lazy circles on
each other's backs.
no need for racing hearts
and sweaty palms.
i love to love you
in the calm
and the quiet
of your company.

- p. winter

Would I e'er compare thee to an autumn's eve
With forests of fiery hues?
Or to a winter's birth
As shards of angels' wings so slowly fall?
Or to a spring's breath
That blossoms all that lives and breathes?
Or to a summer's sun-kissed daydream
Dreamt in fields of grasses tall?
It appears thou art so full of life
There beeth not a reason,
To compare thy being or thy love
To any living season.
Autumn rests in thine auburn hair,
Winter chills thy cheeks so fair,
Spring awakens in thy laughter,
And summer sunlight with thine eyes doth share.
I would not compare thee to any day
Or any time of year,
For all my days are lovely
An I have my love near.

- p. winter

The name itself is but euphony.
The woman is
No different.
With ringlets wild,
Faith of child,
Fingers delicate,
Eyes wise,
Her blushēd cheeks
Are watercoloured
Sunrise waking
Winter skies.
There is music in her laughter.
A new note struck
With every opening of her
Pillowed lips.
In times of sorrow,
Speak her name.
Find healing in loving
Julia.

- p. winter

You can hurt someone while loving them.
Just like you can crinkle sheets by hugging them.
You can apologize, yet never change.
Like washing sheets to crinkle them again.

- p. winter

I know I'm slowly killing it,
But I will display it's drowning corpse, along with those of its brethren, as a sign of my appreciation of it's beauty,
And feel robbed when it dares to wither.
A selfish murderer am I
To **** something so beautiful and full of life
And present it's remains as a present
To my beloved.
I must be insane to do such a thing.
I must be insane
To pick flowers.

- p. winter

Save me from my fear of vulnerability.
Save me from my denial.
But mostly
Save me from my manners.
They keep me from honesty,
They fill me with lies
To fill others with comfort.
There is nothing attractive about them.
Please
Save me from myself.
I am my own roadblock
On a road to recovery.

- p. winter

I am a bird
With wings to carry me to faraway places
And a song to share with the world.
But my foot is caught
In the pin of a grenade.
And I know
That if I try to fly
My freedom will only result
In the death of all my
Beloved.

- p. winter

A lonely loon cry echoes through the morning mist as it crouches over the lake.
The trees rustle quietly as the breeze performs its awakening dance through the branches.
Each icy breath leaves a temporary imprint in the brisk air, before fading away into the forest fog.
And though I'm free from all distractions,
In the stillness of the woods,
I think of you.

- p. winter

I once thought that
If you died
That very moment
I would too.
But now
Whenever you see me
I pray
That it kills you
Inside.

Few can do as you
And smile though meanwhile
The world has got you curled
As you weep yourself to sleep.
You say that you're not brave,
You swear that you don't care,
But in your eyes I see the child
Who still fights through every night.

- p. winter

n
o
  t
h
i
  n
    g

       f
         a
        l
      l
     s

   a
s

s
    u
           r
               e
               l
            y
  
         a
       s
    
  i


         d
                 i

                       d


  
                            f


                  o

        r

­

y
  
    o

  

                   u


                                        .

There's a lesson to be learned
In crying at 3:00 am
Missing the one
You never got along with.

My heart be weary,
My cheeks be teary,
My shoulders sagged,
Mine eyelids bleary.
Perchance 'twill be
What dispatches me:
Destroying mine own self
For thee.

- p. winter

My powerful heart
Lays down all defences, and
Loves you entir'ly.

Clouds all whizzing by
As I free fall from the sky.
The ground comes into view
As my eyes search for you.
I pray you're there prepared
To catch me from the air.
But I look to my side and see
You're falling just as fast as me.

- p. winter

For if I told you that I love you
Anywhere but my poetry
It would give you the power
To walk away.
So for now I will write
'Til the pen falls from my hand.
Never not loving you
And never not denying it.

- p. winter

Everyone gets sad every now and then; gloomy, down in the dumps. But like rainbow after storm we find the light again and move on from our sadness, allowing ourselves to live beautifully and colourfully.

For some, this does not apply. There is no rainbow after the storm for their storm never ends. It's a thickness that dwells deeper than bone marrow, a sadness attached to the core of their chests. A longing for a relief that will never be granted. This sadness is deadly.

So how does one love those who refuse to be loved? How do you look them in their clouded eyes and tell them they mean the world to you? How do you watch them hate everything about themselves and have no way of showing them how perfect they are in your eyes? How do you make it stop?

You can't, it's not that simple. This sadness is not a light switch that can be flicked on and off. You'll never fully save them from it (this will hurt you almost as much as them), but you can try to make it easier.

Listen to what they have to say, don't force them to be like you,
Love them for whate'er they are, their coping mechanisms too.
Hold them closely to your chest and always let go last,
Teach them to live in the moment instead of dwelling on the past.

There is no perfect way to love someone who doesn't love themselves.  There will always be down days, relapses, set backs, but none are intentional. Do not be angry with the one you love for not being able to leave the house for a day. Do not scold them for crying over spilled milk - literally. Do not make them feel like this uncontrollable sadness is entirely their fault - if you do this, you are not worthy of their love to begin with.

Loving someone sad is never easy, it can take some work, but you must remember how much work it takes for them to accept the love that they believe
They are not worthy of.

- p. winter

Throughout history,

Hearts have been broken,
Children have died,
Tears have been shed
By widows who cried,
Wars have been fought,
Homes have been burned,
Errors repeated
From lessons unlearned,
Good have been murdered,
Bad given freedom,
Rich throw to waste
What the poor yearn to feed on.
Few have found refuge;
Re-learned how to smile.

Who?

The poets who sat down
And wrote for a while.

- p. winter

The perfect excuse
To ask everyone you know
If you can shoot them

Darling, the world is ours!
We can be anything we want.
So let's be immortal
'Til the day we die.

- p. winter

I apologize in advance,
For none of my love songs will have melodies.

I will laugh in euphony and cry in cacophany, I will bleed with every typo and breathe with every verse. I will think in metaphors and speak in rhyme.

I will tell you I love you
Not by using those three words
But by writing my own; pages at a time.

I will compare your eyes to lighthouses in the mist
And your laughter to a lark's opera.
You won't just hear me say "you're beautiful" (though you are), but go on for chapters about every little freckle.

You won't understand why I think so dramatically. Or why I take so long to choose my words (because I always know I can find better ones). You will become angry when I sit down and write because I just can't say what I want to with my voice.

But, most of all, I apologize for the way your face will fall when you read my poems and discover who I am. You will awe at how I can hide so much in those little notebooks. You will hear stories about me that will never escape my lips. You will tremble at the exhausted self that remains after I pour all that I am into the pen strokes on the paper.

For these things, I am sorry.
So please excuse me for being a poet.
And please excuse yourself for loving one.

- p. winter

He saw the enchanting flow'r bed.
Thought: for the girl he had wed,
That a flower he'd pick;
But was by the thorn pricked!
And stained all the white roses blood red.

- p. winter

A gentle chorus wafts through the air as abandoned castles sigh, like a cat resting in a sun patch, and ancient cathedrals unitedly chant the song of religious history.
U nveil the glistening treasures deep within the mines of the mountain side; feel the butterflies in your stomach as you dive down the shafts.
S ing the song of the Alps as they enchant you with innocent snow and seductive diamonds, with charming forests and guilty avalanches.
T aste the morning brew on your tongue, basking in the warmth on the cafe patio, listening to the street musicians purify the tourist's ears.
R ed rooftops, orange balconies, yellow sunsets, blue skies, purple chocolate bars. But nothing is green here; for this land envies none.
I return through the skies like the prodigal son, having gone for so long, missing the life I was born to live; but everything is different now and the streets I once called home have become foreign.
A ustria, my mother, I remain an orphan.

- p. winter

One in the morning.
My "home away from home" is
Not home without you.

Two in the morning.
Our time zones are parallel.
My dusk is your dawn.

Three in the morning.
Jet lag induced writer's block.
Yet poetry flows.

Four in the morning.
I still hear your heart beating.
My dear, I miss you.

Five in the morning.
I should sleep but, instead, I
Pour out love letters.

Six in the morning.
So close yet so far, only
An ocean away.

- p. winter

I can’t explain, my dear,
Why some days I feel like an albatross with wingspan wider than the Pacific ocean.
Feathers reflecting the hues of forget-me-not blues and tiger lily oranges as the breeze carries me through the ever hypnotizing sunset.
And yet,
Some days I am but a turtle facing skyward. An anxious bundle of awkward kicks and pathetic wobbles as my feet try to ground themselves once more. The very shell protecting me from danger having betrayed me as it holds safety in front of me on a fishing rod, like a carrot tempting a mule.
I can’t explain, my love,
Why every evening I pump myself with capsules of chemicals to dissolve into my bloodstream like sugar into iced tea: It’s sole purpose to sweeten my taste and leave everyone begging for more of the refreshing treasure that is my happiness. Knowing very well that without my sugar, I would be nothing other than a glass of bitter herbs in tainted water. My ice cubes melting as I sit in the sun, unwanted.
I can’t explain, my darling,
How your eyes are flames that pull me out of every darkness except that that leaves me rocking under the dining room table. Not because they don’t have the power to, but because I have grown too tired to let them. Too tired of the pity you hide so well in the colour of your irises. Too tired to let you bring the laughter you once found in me back to the surface. It has been drowned one too many times.
I can’t explain, my treasure,
Why, after years of fighting, I have yet to win this battle against myself. This war, within these bone walls, that I have slowly been losing… praying for the relief of a white flag… no longer caring which side wins.
Why my blood stained thoughts — cognitive gun shots — dye my snow-white mind a furious shade of scarlet; poppies on a cross grave.
I can’t explain, my everything,
Why bridges start to look like trampolines
And razors feel like skipping stones.
Why God no longer sounds so mighty
And families make you feel even more alone.
I can’t explain why,
Some days I can soar

And some days I’m stuck on my shell.
But to love once again,
To see beauty in life,
For that
I am fighting like hell.

- p. winter

S oaring over cotton clouds, so close you can feel them
E levation rising, even the peaceful feel butterflies
V ery little leg room, time to pace the aisles
E astward we fly, the Atlantic waves wave from below
N othing compares to watching the Sun rise from a front row seat in heaven

H ow magical, and powerful, to glide with the wings of an industrial bluebird
O ver mountains and skylines, even skyscrapers become building blocks, leaving nothing left to be awed
U ltraviolet rays weave by on their way to scorch soft skins
R estless temper tantrums of rebellious winds cause turbulence

F lying with my head in the clouds
L iterally
I think of how many miles each passing minute puts between us
G ently but surely this machine pulls me away from your embrace
H ow long these next few weeks will last
T il I see you, back home, again

- p. winter