roses are read
violets are blown
those words you write
draw my soul here to you

If you take me apart,
Shred me to pieces,
You'll find pieces of him everywhere.

On my arms are
Chains of his words,
Whispered into my ears,
Spells to get me through the worst.

On my legs,
Distances,
Time zones away from you,
How to get to you
Engrained into my feet's memory.

In my head,
The music notes play
Like children in the park,
They dance around,
Merrily, joyfully to your smile,
And are melancholy when you cry.

In my lungs,
Every breath is filled with you.
Inhale all you,
Exhale all of me.

On my skin,
Warmth a lit all across,
Little bonfires every where,
Sparks trailing down my skin
Tickling, tingling.
It takes away all the cold I shivered from before.

In my heart,
Your happiness.

If I told you I loved you today it would mean nothing tomorrow.

Blowing the dust off of old poems, some that were never finished because who wants to listen to love soaked poetry?

Wringing out my thoughts onto paper for someone to read them. Making sure they mean something so someone can feel them.

The world is made up of poetry. Some get the chance to hear it and some have the chance to write it.

Only the lucky ones can feel it. So drift away in my words and hold them tight.

Sit alone and read them at night. Fall into my words and land in my thoughts.

One thing is for sure, we all die. But our words and poetry have a chance to live on.

It's been an honor. Thank you all for supporting me, teaching me how to be a poet I very much appreciate it but for now I have to be one with the wind.

I'll be back as soon my future is certain, education is as they say the path to all paths.

I love you all

I wrote a poem for her today.... No no no, thats no good way to start it.
"You are my heart beat and i couldn't live without it." Nope thats no good either.

I just want to please her.. Even my best attempt to meet her wouldn't be enough to see her. I crumbled it up and threw it away, I erased it all, all the words I couldn't say.

Maybe writing a poem would be the way. A crumbled up piece of paper, and all that is left on it to say "I wrote you a poem today"

She is
The heart of poetry,
The cynosure in art,
The spirit of love
That renews honesty.
More precious than
Jewels of God,
mesmerising
arch angels in the centre of heaven having more love than two hearts combine, she's alive and so are we as she imbues us with her life.

The roof is only a foundation, the sky above our heads is the ground beneath her feet and still she is down to earth.

The sun reside within her chest, glistering as she stands, with eyes made of pearls gaze into them and witness fields of elation emerge,where harmony is the ying and melody the yang.