I touch her every chance I get.
I hope to see her in the hall.
I light up when she visits me.
I think of reasons just to call.
- and we're just friends.

I remember her by perfume scent.
I talk to her, so warm and wise.
I smile, she's not even here.
I long to be before her eyes.
- but we're just friends.

I dream and she is here with me.
Her touch lives on for hours, days.
We speak, and yet no word is said.
Hearts unconsciously repeat the phrase,
- we're not just friends.

I try to tell her, but cannot say.
I sigh, I think she already knows,
about a love I did not intend.
And yet it lives. And yet it grows.
- I love my friend!

This late at night
my mind is numb
my pen has molded
to my thumb
yet, somehow words still seem to come.
Soon my body will succumb.

I cannot keep my head upright
It's been a long and useless night.
The words I write they seem so old.
How often can a poem be told?

Perhaps I'd do a world of good
if I laid my pen upon the wood
and instead of chasing every shred
I'll put my words and self to bed.

There is a box inside my room
I do not lock or try to hide.
But, that doesn't mean I'm not ashamed
of what I have inside.

I open it when I'm alone.
I sort through things I'd never show.
I wash my hands when I am done.
I leave it there when I do go.

One day perhaps I'll burn it
when I consider and decide.
When I no longer need such comfort
and come to grips with what's inside

For now I'll simply leave it
unlocked and unattended.
It is a symptom, not a cause
and it needs not to be defended.

Blank pages sit before me
like an ocean to be crossed
So, I set off to explore me
finding treasure never lost

Adventure and excitement
have me sailing to unknown
and the need for understanding
has me setting off alone

The journey is not easy
for the truth is hard to find
and ignorance keeps crashing
through the bottom all the time

But I will keep on going
this kind of poem I can't complete
for its the journey, not the end
that makes the heart within me beat

My life is like a river
winding down unto the sea
and if you sail my waters
then you can get a look at me
I may not be the greatest
of the rivers which have been
but you'll never find a body
that is more proud or genuine

Starting at my source
My family and home
filling me with substance
as I flow off on my own
my water, crystal-clear
alive with plant and fish
and to always be that way
is the one thing that I wish

Friends contribute water
and it helps me as I grow
Flowing ever deeper
running faster as I go
Some would irrigate me
but i'll never be contained
others hope to **** me
but I cannot be restrained

Raging with my water
sometimes my borders overflow
as I give back the sediment
thad borrowed long ago
my water moving mountains
slicing channels through the land
I may not be the greatest
but my canyons have been grand

When I wished to merge
another river I did find
and at once our separate waters
had forever been combined
Our banks were overflowing
from the substance that we shared
and so we pass it on
into the rivers we did bear

Meandering through life
My river not as deep
My water not as clear
and my angle not as steep
But my inside still is living
and that's how I will always be
Until my waters do depart me
when I flow into the sea.

From atop a nearby inkwell
I see the battle rage
Characters as soldiers swiftly march across the page.

Attacking one another
I see a sentence fall.
And me upon my inkwell making reason of it all

Phrases fighting phrases.
Paragraphs collide.
Letters without leaders as the clauses all divide.

When the fighting ended
the punctuation troops arrive
Directing, reconnecting, making sense of those alive.

and now when all's in  order
I see the reasoning indeed.
For, from out of all this fighting comes the story that you read.

all they wanted was a voice,
a place to use it and a choice,
a choice of who will speak for them,
a chance to change him, if and when
they decide that someone new
will better voice their point of view
And this they asked of those who be
But those in charge did not agree.
And to show to them that they did not
the ones who asked for this were shot
And when the rest did see this sight
they knew their comrades had been right
if you do not choose who has the voice
then those in charge will make the choice.
And if its then that you realize
that he who asks for choices dies
then you will finally see the right
and why they knew they had to fight