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maki-1Poems
I fell in love with a poet, a composer who sang his thoughts I fear I hum the words he strums Serenade, lullaby, his darling good night His poetry heeds the universe and infinity Forever is fairytale, forever there is hope Surrealism is all he desires Art is not perception, rather it touches the soul Every inch of the poet is constellation, not a speck of imperfection to my eyes He knew what's in my heart Synapse to synapse, untraced The heartbeat chimes to the damsel who evanesced Eternal, he churn and cling to her strings Days, months, years Endurance, indolence I sit, I read, I decipher his thoughts In hopefulness, someday, the poet will devour me as his own.
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Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 3:09 AM UTC
Poetry Hurts
I fell in love with a poet, a composer who sang his thoughts I fear I hum the words he strums Serenade, lullaby, his darling good night His poetry heeds the universe and infinity Forever is fairytale, forever there is hope Surrealism is all he desires Art is not perception, rather it touches the soul Every inch of the poet is constellation, not a speck of imperfection to my eyes He knew what's in my heart Synapse to synapse, untraced The heartbeat chimes to the damsel who evanesced Eternal, he churn and cling to her strings Days, months, years Endurance, indolence I sit, I read, I decipher his thoughts In hopefulness, someday, the poet will devour me as his own.
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maki-1
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 3:09 AM UTC
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