My favorite part about love
Is also my least favorite
The way you look in their eyes.

The gift is the curse.
It's one of a kind

Leaves scratched
on their arduous journey
to the forest floor

Sipping the air slowly
to savor the flavor;
rich with fertility
Leaves bursting into fiery hues
reminiscent of fireworks
trembling in the wind

A death knell
over green sceneries;
splotches of sunlight
seeping seamlessly between
newly naked branches,
easing fully unto checkered golden pools–
nature at its most beautiful,
before its most barren

Write poetry, his heart did tell him.

So he closed his eyes and described a tree,
But it's verdant leaves built upon great,
Amber seams. Did not settle the ache.

In fact the more his minds eye did capture the veins coursing, Pre-written, as if trapped by fate, so too did he feel more empty.

The harder I sought to hold the feeling of the wind, cool and comfortable, like a child's blanket, on that warm day.

The deeper I needed to tell the world, or just a someone, how the city lights gleamed upon the burgundy sunset, how right it felt to be there in that moment as the world changed, just so before me.

The desire continued only more, the hunger it would not stop, it was ravenous, as I idled by thinking of how to capture the light in her eyes, even as my heart now breaking, like raging waves upon land anchoring some apple dangling, twisting, and snapping back just out of the wrathful sea.

But the fruit of knowledge isn't for me. Even if I were to have it, never could I see. I'd be blind, even with omnipotence, ah even with her praise... I'd just smile for a little while... but then... I'd get hungry.

How can I get it back, how can I trade my love in word? No when I can only paint the shades of black. When I want the horror and lust, and not the beautiful rust, of words and ink bleeding on the page of, just... I don't know.

My metaphors ran out. I guess my hunger won out because they say at the end you don't starve anymore. You're delusional and delirious and the endorphins and your mind finds peace, and the emptiness that lies beyond.

Ah because that's where I am now. The place which poetry has given me. A gift or a curse. I know not anymore to decide.

Be Careful who you love,
Your heart will follow them,
Wherever you Go.

Guard who you trust,
Despite what you may hope,
The world is filled with lust.

Watch yourself growing up,
Just because you get old,
Does not mean you've reached the mountaintop.

Don't let your pain make you,
Hold the scars on your heart,
And become who you must.

Find your consistency,
The world will beat you down,
Be the rock others, gather around.

It's the quiet moments,
of existential dread,
Where your character opens.

Be the happiness you seek,
Worthy ones won't come,
Unless you are at peace.

Find the strength to say no,
The easy way deceiveth,
The hard, long road, will provideth.

And you don't need a religion,
But nurture your soul,
Even if it's with,
A simple little poem.

The Boy walked a path,
A quiet little road,
and the passengers came and went,
But no one joined the show.

The blue sky never changed,
The clouds would not grow,
The sun could not fade,
The moon will not glow.

It twisted, it turned,
Yet the more forward he bent,
The more the Echos came, and went
"Remember, Remember,"
And the Sky still would not change.

He lost his way,
But the path never went away,
Silly little boy, silly little problems,
Lonely little child, Smiling dutifully.

Where will he go?
Oh, just aways.
What will he see,
A few passengers, blank as the sky.
Reflections of... something, gone by.

What will he hear?
Oh, just the sounds of his fear,
"Remember, Remember,"
pit-pat, pit-pat,
Nary, nary on her December.

The Spring birthed for others,
For him only death grew,
And the bees pollinated,
Each and every one of those bright seeds.

Cute little boy,
Grown so big,
To hold in all the clouds,
Because he's too small.
Too weak,
To look up at that Sky.
Anymore.

Can it be understood?
The storms of another.
He ponders.
He ponders.
And the passengers exit here.

I woke up still dreaming,
A silly little seeming.
I dropped a cup upon your door,
And your mom to my wonder, beckoned me forth.

She asked questions I must confess,
My mind remembers not but my heart craves, even at rest.
She smiled down knowingly,
and in that, Moment, greedily,
My mind played tricks to give me reason
To find you again, to beckon forth
As if I was ever a prince. And you anything but, a nevermore.

Oh, such, poison, sickly sweet,
In those hazel eyes, and bountiful *****,
In your perfect hair and perfect smile,
That in my dreams a stranger convinces me, it's worth a while.

Oh, broken heart, still beating,
That even yet still needing,
Something from days best forgot,
From traumas that still burn hot.
Go away, I say. Find a new devil to ache.
Nay, nay. Nay.

Ah am I more scared to remember, or more afraid to forget?
And I may never find a lover, not one that's here,
I only look in the distance now.
She's the only one who can get near.
Just me and my regret.
Still just you. My Amanda Dear.

It was a dark night,
and the man laid along the road,
and the moon wasn't there,
but it never shown so bright,
He dreamed a dream,
But the sun shone,
and woke him anyway.