Hips...
   Chest...
      Face...
         Waist...
            ...traced.

© 2014 J.S.P.

I can only give
what I have

may I practice
compassion and forgiveness
with myself,
so I can *pass it on

Words dance at the poet’s tune
A grand symphony of feelings
Tugging at the heartstrings
The space between the words
Is where the magic lies
Music which enthralls the soul
Woven with the words
Which flowed from the pen
Birthing a poetry

Few things touch a poet more than the pure beauty of a smile newly in love,

Or the tremendous pain seen in the tear filled eyes of a heart recently broken.

I can no longer see one without recalling the other,
And in that I find my poetic doom.

When you
Are no longer
Special
To someone
Who made you feel
Like you are
The most special
Person
Before.

One day, my son, you'll understand why not all trees grow.