She shakes her ****
When I get home;
Does everything
To get the bone.
She realizes;
I recognize.

The new born eyes
Me so intently;
I return the gaze
Just as gently.
She realizes;
I recognize.

The battered bird
With feathers thinning,
Knows Spring's waxing,
Winter's waning.
It realizes;
I recognize.

So too with art
As pieces languish,
Some we banish
As too outlandish;
Some are lost
At our great cost;
Some are found
Underground,
In a cave
On frescoes walls,
In attic, cellar,
Flea market stalls.

A sonnet found
In some distant shire,
Or ten words
Of wisdom
We retired;
Banished today,
Tomorrow admired.
We realize;
We recognize
Not all our work
Can inspire,
When buried in
The hit pismire.

with a kiss i could absorb your soul
& with a touch you could heal me

The saddest thing about
This sadness
Is that you have taken
Everything
From me.
I can't even write
A single good poem
Anymore.
The one thing I thought
I could do
The one thing I thought
I was good at
The one thing I thought
Would always be there...
But I guess I thought
The same thing about you
And I guess I made
The same mistakes I've
Always
Made
Waiting
             Wishing
                           Wondering if you
Would come back
To me.
If you would feel
The same fiery passion in your heart
That burns in mine.
So I guess I'll just sit here
And write bad poetry
And that's all we ever were
Just bad poetry that I tried
Too hard to interpret as good