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 Mar 2015 Raymond F Bell
Love
It's an unspoken rule between us two,
that you never tell me you love me,
and I pretend I don't see the way you look at me.

It's an unspoken rule between us two,
That you ignore the way my heart yearns for him,
and I ignore how much it kills you.

It's an unspoken rule between us two,
That you don't punch his ****,
and I play ignorance to your arguments.

It's an unspoken rule between us two,
That I don't encourage you,
and you don't tell me how you feel.

It's our unspoken rules,
that we don't speak of the feelings we have,
because we know it was the only way to be with each other.
 Mar 2015 Raymond F Bell
Love
There are nights I can't sleep,
because I'm pestered with thoughts of you.

There are mornings I wake,
Exhausted from chasing you.

There are afternoons I bare,
Pretending I'm fine.
Maybe one day I'll believe it.

Then finally the evenings I collapse,
Knowing that this isn't the last.

The worst parts of my day,
Are seeing you,
because it reminds me,
of how little I meant to you.
He’s no musician.
He doesn't make melodies through violin and guitar strings.
Yet he composed, haunting ballads in dramatic tempos,
Rhyming every lyric,
Harmonizing, making it dance in a musical euphony.

He’s no seamster.
Yet he cuts and he traces,
plain words and printed phrases;
Then he sews and he weaves it skilfully,
into a lovely concrete poetry.

He’s no painter.
He just has a palette of pigmented letters,
splashing colorful lines on his blank canvass.
A blast of contained evocative memories,
Streaking and shading mixtures of kaleidoscopic imagery.

He’s no storyteller.
Yet from him, I heard the most romantic tales-
One, of the moon and its lover sea.
Reciprocating shy glances, whispering I love you’s,
while kissing behind the sprawling mountains.
Though the dawn will come, they do not fear.
For after the majestic tribal sun leaves his stage,
There’ll the lovers be once again reunited.

He's no poet.**
Yet he writes--
stanzas and verses.
And oh! it revives,
every strand of emotion,
every sense of intuition,
Inside me.
A lyrical perception,
Sheer perfection,
Arousing perpetual reactions,
From me.
I am not good at this. I just want to express my pure gratitude, appreciation and awe for you.

"I am no poet. Never thought of myself as one. Just a guy dabbling clumsily in words"
Yet even, everything you do amaze me.


Thank you all wonderful people on Hello Poetry. I just realized this moment that this poem was featured as Daily poem yesterday.  I have never imagined any of my work will be posted as daily. Thank you all for the hearts, re-post,share, comments and messages. You really made my heart and soul so happy. :)
And most of all, thanks to the man who inspire me to write this one. :)
(04.14.2015)
D.
my feet are outside of the car
before the complete stop
your arms cannot wait
i jump at the sight of you
this love must be true
 Mar 2015 Raymond F Bell
Shylah S
People are like apples picked from a tree,
The beautiful ones with no imperfections are picked first,
but that makes them bitter and unripe.

The bruised and dented are picked last,
but that makes them sweet and delicious.

But beauty is just a perception.
The second you bite into the sweet but imperfect apple,
you realize it is more beautiful than all other apples combined.
Beauty
is
just a
perception.

So don't hide your dents and perfect imperfections.
If you do, you may become bitter inside.
Beautiful is not a definition of you,
but you are the definition of **beautiful.
You were my calm before the storm,
But little did you know,
When you weren't around
I was dancing in the rain,
Under the limelight of lightning bolts.
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