Was it longing in is sad, blue eyes, or was it lust?
Maybe it was a beautiful combination of the two.
She always left him wanting more.
So he gave up the sunlight for her.
He promised to spend the rest of his days  in darkness, between silk sheets and, hushed tones.
He never asked anything of her.
Seeing her body covered in nothing but moonlight was more than
his soul could ever dream of.

My life beneath your lies
Your heart in someone's purse,

Sweet days of mine
creating bitter memories...

I woke up in the marshes,
All l could hear was the wolves hawl
through the frigid forest.
I was weak to walk but my soul grew stronger.
The winds made me cold even in my jacket.
Alone in the dark with a torch running out of batteries.
Walk like a hunter in the night,
like a soldier at war
looking for the beacon of hope
That my bad days are over.

And so dear friends the time has come to pass,
Of things of life that never last.
This troubled feature of zombified mind corpses,
Full of distracting features.
Empty road courses,
Thousands upon thousands.
No end in sight,
The road of progress leaves either day or night.
So dear friends and lifes alters,
The door has come aclosed.
The days are long,
But time is shorter.
So live,
But don’t love wrong.

If a picture's worth a thousand words,
What's a life worth?
It's crazy to think that life can be lived
A million different ways when,
at most, we'll only see 36,500 days.
Especially these days, people worry
They don't have time to figure out
How to do, how to say something meaningful.
So think about it like this:
You may only have 36,500 days, 100 years. But it doesn't take days or years
To make a difference.
It only takes a minute.
And EVERY YEAR, you get 525,600 of them. 525,600 chances to change.

I watched them from afar, as they laughed and played. Two pieces of innocence, that were soon to fade.

Cause each day they're getting older, now their smiles don't seem the same. They write their feelings in a folder, cuddling they pillows tightly, as they whisper the other's name.

The boy says: "I wish that I could hold you, just like when we used to play. I feel that I love you, but fear that you might not feel the same. So I'll hug my pillow tight, and these tears... will get me through the night. Tomorrow, I will get to see you smile, and I'll be alright."

The girl peeps through her bedroom window, though she can't see the boy. 'Maybe he's asleep, it was a long day after all.' Now she hugs a handmade doll, and whispers words she hopes it can't repeat:

"He looks so cute, when he takes a nap; though I can't remember, the last day his head rested in my lap. Doesn't he love me? Am I really just a friend? These feelings that I have, how can I ever tell him them? I miss the way he held me, all back then; like I was more than a friend. All of these kisses that I give you, are really meant for him."

She sighs and looks up at sky. "Why must boys become men? And why do I want that man, to be more than just my friend?... To be my lover in the end."

Is it early in the morning,
Our late, at night,
It depends, where you are,
With the thoughts, in your sights.
To some, it’s normal, and right,
Others are sleeping, curled up tight.
You can live your whole life,
Following habits, what others do,
Or experiment, with every minute,
To discover, the best creative hours,
For You.

                                              Tom Maxwell © 02/03/2021 A.D. 1:37 AM

look at home,

the night is dark
and yet forgetful

warm room with
bodies sound asleep

cosy air breathes
through the windows

as the leaves fall
somewhere in the future

and a rainy day
is on the offering

carelessly stoking
arms of the clock

it's a shelter still
this warm room

filled with things
that will be --

old and dying,

as the leaves fall
somewhere in the future

for enough springs have
come to pass

now that i sit here
looking at old photographs,

visiting home.