you are the tide, and I, the shore;
we drift so close, but I want more.
but when the sun sets on today,
the moon will pull you far away.
chest skipping a beat
butterflies in stomach
smell of crying
falling in a dream
fall into a song
lay on a cold bed
good small easy to chew ice
coffee on a rainy day
smell of rain
jumping for joy
closing 20 research tabs
smelling food cooking
reading a good book
rewatching a good movie
smell of matches
navigating foreign subways
freezing outside to warm room
hot outside to cool room
rolling down a hill
staring at space
soft stuffed toys
infatuation over someone
i can still feel therefore i am still alive
I miss the quiet of unrequited love;
Quaint love that wasn't quite love,
Less like love and more of lust.
Just trust in faith, trust, and pixie dust
To guide your hand to this wonderous Wonderland,
A Neverland you'll never have
Where the only truth is fixation on imagination.
Sensual sensation and internal infatuation
In combination with pain and frustration of waiting for nothing;
I hate it.
But I love it, I laud it, applaud it,
The freedom, the fleeting feeling of being love drunk till kingdom come.
The beating drum of a beating heart that will be beaten down but will come around,
For in the game of love for two where only a single player plays,
There is no winner in the end, the joy comes from the chase.
Let your feelings run free in the fields of your imagination
The flash of light came so suddenly.
You illuminated the stormy sky,
And for a second
The black clouds disappeared,
Replaced by a blanket of white;
You were the spark that lit my life,
And in that moment I could see.
But then, my vision cleared,
No longer dazed and blinded.
You struck me,
You left me paralyzed.
Was I that careless
To leave myself out in the open?
Or was I that fragile
That I was left shocked and broken?
You left as quick as you came,
Only leaving your deafening message,
Each word painful to hear.
Staring at the amorphous darkness,
Raindrops and tears fell in unison;
I was alone again in the rain.
Lightning never strikes the same place twice. I pray this is true.
Sublime splendor, my celeste;
Oh, the beat that strikes my chest.
At night I wonder 'bout your day
And if you think of me that way
'Cause when I think of you my dear,
I grin wide from ear to ear,
For your beauty's measured more
Than diamonds and riches galore.
So my dear, it makes me grieve
That I can never quite achieve
Your love; I look on from afar
At my twinkling little star.
Up above my world so high, I can never catch your eye
You're nothing special,
Nothing like a star
Or a tranquil forest.
I can never have those things.
You're as simple as a chair;
You keep me up
When the world brings me down
You may not be special to them, but you are to me.
Why do I write? For her alone?
To let the field be wintered snow?
To leave the love to thrive and grow?
Or reap the yield of love once sown?
We carve our names on apple trees
Because I write for us, not me;
These poems then are what can be
The garden where we plant our seeds.
What a beautiful garden
The sun's arms outstretch, they luminate and uplift even the most melancholy of sundered souls.
Its rays, magnificent as the glow of fireflies on a starry night.
Heavy clouds form shadows covering its beauty.
The pitter patter of rain starts falling.
The rain is getting stronger,
Why does it have to rain?
every night, i lie in bed.
every night, i pray;
i pray you'll be mine.
i hate praying,
prayers are saved for the desperate
You eat with her at lunch
You buy her favorite food for her
You help her with her work
You know her favorite things
You chat with her all night
You joke to make her laugh
You offer gifts to make her smile
You are her shoulder to cry on
You are the one she trusts most
You gave her your heart
But at the end of the day
She doesn't see you that way
True love, oh so true love.
I stare into her eyes,
Still searching for yours.
It's hard to move on
To soar as mighty Jupiter
And ascend as no others have;
This folly strikes all hearts of men.
For when he rises from his tow'r,
His wax will falter, wings broken,
And he will plummet, Hell-ward bound.
Though human nature inclines this,
Would you rather live as a beast?
Most feral and soulless, fangs bared,
Chained neck and paw to cruel masters.
The beast trapped, it knows not freedom
Ever staring at the heavens.
Poetry is for the special ones;
The lonely and the loved,
The disheveled and depressed,
The fallen and the flying,
The muffled and the muted,
The broken and brokenhearted,
The dreamers and defiant ones.
Poets are never satisfied.
— The End —