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Poet lives in his words
A part of his soul
Written across paper
Ink that flows
Bleeding the poet’s heart
Poetry holds life
You remind me of a
crayon box. And the
colours of purple and
blue. The colours of
sunsets found inside a
mango peel and the
shades of green in your
eyes before you take the mango
peel off and see it from inside.
And when you wear that
green pullover of yours
that reminds me of  leprechauns
and four leaf clovers. I
know this might sound crazy
but darling its oh so true.
Orange and brown look
good on you too. Your
cheeks look like strawberry
pink when they freeze from
winters cold breeze. You
also remind me of my favorite
black crayon that i never
let go of during every single
art class. Deep mysterious
and full of secrets and stories
to be told. You remind me
of a crayon box because
you hold more beautiful colours
than any rainbow holds.
And that's why i smile every
time i touch my little crayola
crayon box because it always
brings me thoughts of you* ~
We cry that we are alive, they cry that we’ve died.
@Copyright Kaitlyn marie
The musician cries
As he sings a sweet song
He feels the same way
As he has for so long
The feeling of love and
The feeling of worth
Has all been crumbled
And put in the dirt
After a show he gets peace of mind
Finding room to breath
But still not all are kind

That night they caused him to crack
Pushed him to the limit
And that was that
He wrote one last song
Recorded it there, played it outloud
In case someone cared
Noose made from the strings of a guitar
He walked off the staff
And stopped his metronome heart
He sought peace at the beach
the surf was thunderous
though the sea was calm

He looked to the rain forest
the morning mist was light
yet sounded as if he stood under a tin roof during a downpour

The mountain top proved no better
he could feel no breeze
but stayed disturbed by the howling of a winter wind

Wandering the Earth
the peace he searched for
could not be found
giving up his quest
he sat upon a rock
strangely he felt tranquil
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