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Inside my heart
nothing else there but stars
glassy broken pieces it beats in shards,
inside I fear it's growing hard,

Ever-knowing,
& ever-growing
as the light inside is ever-glowing,

I continue to turn into diamonds,
every day I wait for the night
ever-pining
the ever-shining,

in your brilliant,
distant,
waxing & waning
Moon.

Cherie Nolan© 2016
: )
my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.
© copyright

NOTE: i've noticed people sharing this to other sites without having spoken to me about it beforehand, I do not give permission for this and all poems are copyright, keep this in mind.

------------------------------------------------
my mother never actually said this to me, but i figure i'll probably end up saying it one day if i have children.

it's pessimistic yes, but i know there are exceptions. please don't take to heart. it's more a criticism of myself than all poets. :)
We are like
leftover love for dinner
have a bit,
winner, winner,
I have a Magic Kitchen
it's really *******'
& so bewitchin'
so much better the next time,
or prepared inside a rhyme,
add a bit of needed time,
reheated for
when it's breezy
or even freezy,
warm and cheesy
easy peasy
nice & squeezy,
accompanied by
a simple salad
a soft playing ballad

we have some
arugula dressed up
& maple roasted roots
emmmm,
so yummy yummy,
for my tummy,
making yummy memories
& love...

a private room for two,
right here a there is a booth,

in lovely pomegranate vintage dresses,
my lovely silken raven tresses,
lips taste of the sweetest wine,
my tongue & you are intertwined,

followed by
Ben & Jerry's ice cream
Sunday's,
& once again love
on Mondays,
every day with you a funday,
would you be

my love come one day?
? Idk ; )
Permanent present
In
Present impermanence

O

With no immediate
Memory
Yet all
Events
Recall in perfect
Clarity

O

Here
Now
And now
Gone

O

Life without
Relation
To
Unrelated

Object

Nor subject
Relates to
None

O
Taking sips of fresh air
Sun splashes on the skin
mind heavy with searching
eyes unseeing their way
a bird sings for love.
And in this cell
Of eye
Of blood marrow
And brain encased
In cell of skull bone

Must I brood and
Wait on sacred flood

Each cell hums
Each muscle tense
And calling

Each and every part
Imploring

Freedom
the drum beats of the ancestors
reverberate in our chests
their knowledge of love; that tree is your sister.
.
In his breathy love's eyes
The winds are wandering,
Their legs have sauntered
In a loose fit journey away
From the warmth of arms'
Embrace, under the stars,
A heart of days splendour,
Has waned into a wincing
Chain, propped and long,
Where even the dark sees,
They sooth incandescently
Blind.  How can love grow
In a vow hermetically cold
When all outsides' beams
Are breaking like the sun?
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