Here is a poem
To a boy or a girl
A specific archer
Or maybe a plain Sport player

What is love?
Is it everyone must have?
In different thoughts
And different genre,
How can I explain?
How do I begin?

In the Archery of Love
There’s a bow and an arrow we must have
And here’s the target face
A mind and soul based

In this game you choose
To be the Archer
Or the target face

When your lover is the Archer
He / She can hit you
Bull’s eye!
The feeling of love
Can already make you fly.

But remember
Archery is a game
At the end
He / She will get the arrow
That hit you awhile ago

You can feel the pain
It’s end of the game
Archery of Love is just a game
So stop crying

From  High School I look at you as an ordinary student.
Never felt that you are confident.
By text messages and simple greetings,
Something grew called feelings.

I knew you more by each passing day.
The moments we’ve shared,
Even Bill Gates can’t pay.

We laugh,
We fight,
I sometimes cry
After  that something takes place called shy.
Giving each other nicknames
Feeling special even it’s a shame.

I don’t have to rush
But I’ve told you that you’re my crush
It’s okay for  you ‘cause we’re friends
Tragic for me knowing where it ends.

Now that I’m far away from your sight
You’re always on my mind at night
I know that we’re not meant to be
I’ll always miss you,
You’ll  never  miss me.
You have the right to that ‘cause you’re free
Having no strings attached between you and me.

You may not be a genius
Or a person so famous
But you’re the reason why
I can imagine myself fly

Your smile as my wings
Your voice as my telephone that rings
People judge you
For me you are true
To what I see is what you are
Even  I can hear rumors from a far

I don’t care if for a game
You are defeated
Your time and effort  for me
Is much appreciated

Somethings for you may be difficult
Dude, you’re made that way
It’s not your fault

You don’t have to try things you hate
You can do it because you have faith
Don’t bother if others don’t like you
You’re not that perfect
But due to effort appreciated
For me, you are perfectly imperfect.

He stays focused on his mind
Imagining a place you’ll never  find
He got his pen
And wrote his note
A poem for a person he once fought

This poet wrote for a special one
And she just made him out of fun
She’d just taken for granted
His love and effort
Then with his  own will
She ran

He told others after that
What he’d been through
He was shocked
With words of wisdom came from his mouth
He  now tell tales of hatred
As long as north reached the south

He didn’t try to hurt her
Or  cursed the people who likes her
All he did was beg for her to go back
Too bad her pride was high as a garbage truck

He failed
He was pitied
All he had was a pen
A note
Or a typing machine
To express his feelings
No care
No effort
No one will be hurt
He thought

So He write
He cry
While tears on the paper dry
He’s fighting the memories
On his face
You can’t see any bliss.