I stared at the pond for hours
Dipping my index and letting it drip

A rustle here, a rumour there,
Wouldnt stir my pouted lip.

In the green I didn’t note you.
No bark or howl did you insist.

I had defied your mild chirping,
Untill I saw you wearing mist.

Green frog, looking upwards.
Slight, but surely there.

Please stay here, pondside with me,
In this sigh im glad to share.

You never asked.
For this burden.

To be their salvation.
To salvage the light.

You grew up in the dark.
Yet you never dulled your spark.

They look to you for answers.
They look to you for hope.

You nurturer you're mind.
Found another way of life.

You learned long ago.
Not everyone can be saved.

Still somehow.
You hope.
You're wrong.

You are a boy.
You are a saviour.

Finding the faintest light.
To keep the spark of hope.
Alive.

Tell me we're never getting back together.  
Tell me you don't love me anymore.
Tell me that just the sight of me conveys your dark days , your ongoing relapse, your latest downfall, your mindless fails.
You see my face because I was there with you.
Cleaning & holding you up, filling you with hope when you had none..
you were done &  had completely given up on the world.
..I didn't have too. now I wish I didn't. If I can go back in time I would change all that.  Walk out on you & never look back. Save us both. But I stayed.
I fell & followed you into the darkness. Release me **** it .
Give me closure
As true as you can ever be towards another human being. Say it.
Whatever it is, whatever it may be,
Just please, release me.

I  am a ball falling into
A corner pocket.
Hit and sent flying.
The clatter of hopes and dreams
Knocked into each other.
I tumble into darkness
A world I've never known.
Unsure of where I am going.
But I roll.
Sent spinning across a velvet tongue.
I feel the rush.
Direct from the cue stick.
Pushed by the cue ball.
A crisp crack and I am sent flying.
Seamlessly waiting in line
Not knowing what number I am.
A shot aimed into netted lips.
As I tumble and swirl.
It turns out it's not so dark
In here after all.
Love is a game, and here I am.
Waiting to be placed back
Into the rack

There is a list of things that I wish I remember.
First, ...............
Oh no, nevermind, I just forgot what the things are.

But I'm sure that there are things that I just can't forget.
Like the first time I saw you and the first time I talk to you. It might sounds cheesy but I just can't forget about it.

I can't forget the way your mouth curled up when you smile, or the way your eyes disappear when you laugh.
I can't forget your sparkly eyes when you talk about your day.
I can't forget your hand that shy to hold mine.

I can never forget the warmth of your hug, nor the tears you gave when you had a rough day.

It's hard to forget that I love you.
And the fact that I am loving you right now.

No, I don't want to forget you.
Not when I'm in love with you.

But there are things that I wish I remember, that the sparks are temporary, that you might one day look at me the way you look at your classmates, that your mouth might not want to say any love words, that your eyes might seems straight and empty when you look at me.

Those things, will eventually break my heart. Since I keep telling myself that you're the love of my life at least every time I look at your pictures. Since I keep saying that you're the one, whenever I read the old conversations of us.

I wish I can always remember that those pains will eventually come. But I can't. I am too busy denying those facts. So, I end up forgetting it.

I wish I remember other things, like the way you mad at me when I broke my promise. Or the way you ignore me when I became too protective. Or the day when you don't even want to touch me because you were so angry.

Yes, there are things that we wish we remember, that spark is temporary, but love might be permanent.
That love is not just about the times when we hug, but also the times when we fight.
That love is not about the first days of our lives, but it is about the journey.
That love...
Will leave.

Love is sometimes near.
As near as hugs yet still trying to get closer.

Love is sometimes special.
It's discovering new things and embrace them.

Love is sometimes warm.

But some other times,
Love is far.
Sometimes it's untouchable nor reachable.
But you won't feel the distance.

Love is basic.
Sometimes it's the same old things that happen continuously.
But you cherish it anyway.

Love is cold.
Sometimes it's much colder,
And yet you can feel her warmth.

Because,
Love is there.
Every single day.
Every single night.
Every second.
Every blink of an eye.

So afraid he, (of) duplicity,
he locked himself away in his tower.

When he'll leave, no one can say,
until the appointed hour.

Through falling leaves, and fire's hearth,
fresh dew and Summer's harvest.

He hides and waits behind locked gates,
in his tower, filled with avarice.

For you see, this tower is not empty,
nor, hollow, echoing or cold.

It's filled to bursting, with such great treasure, worth even more than gold.

No gold, nor silver, no precious stone, gathers dust in these thick walls,

Something far more hallowed, abstract and rare,
adorns and decks the halls.

Trust.

A simple thing, yet complex in itself.
And those who earn it, and give it freely
Are seen to have great wealth.

Hard to find, hard to give,
Difficult to buy and without, live.

Easy to break, easy to lose,
Easy to foster with those you choose

Bonds worth more than any bond,
Without it, life's joys abscond.

But.

What worth has treasure,
or hoarded wealth, if not spent and shared or given?

If you harbor it, keep it, and clutch it tight, everything for which you've striven?

Just dust and dust, ashes and tears,
Loneliness and paranoia collected for years

As valuable as it is, the tighter you hold,
Trust becomes worthless, a Fool's Gold.

For Trust left to stagnate, rot and fester,
Becomes useless, and to the soul, a fetter

But see! A crack, a flaw overlooked,
In this stalwart bastion.

A window, a portal, through which shines a light,
Igniting dormant passion.

Across the moat of sorrow,
And over the walls of grief,
Through halls filled, yet hollow,
Shines a tempting belief.

The light of hope, the sparkle of joy,
The shimmer of dreams and fate

And on the winds of change, a sound,
A whisper to contemplate.

"Trust me," calls a distant voice,
A tempting change to his current choice

"Some of yours for some of mine,
We'll make the trade, and it'll be fine."

He stands paused before the door, thinking, "No, I've heard it all before.

You say 'some of that, for some of this'
Then something will surely go amiss.

You'll break my trust,
leave my heart stinging,
and go off happy, merry, singing.

And I'll be left, betrayed, alone,
with one more hurt etched in my bone."

"Alone," he says, looking around,
At his desolate sanctuary, devoid of sound.

"Is it worse," he mumbles with chagrin,
"Than this bleak hell I placed myself?

But surely I must remain vigilant, and guard my bountiful wealth."

"Only," he murmurs, pacing now,
"To look at it, all I see is stuff.

Bountiful? Valuable? Yes and yes,
but certainly more than enough.

And what is its value, truly, to me
Besides something to trade, to barter?"

And he suddenly filled with certainty,
He'd die alone, a false martyr.

He hauled at the doors,
rusted from disuse,
Man and door made a terrible groan

"No! Not yet, my future's not set,
I have yet time to fill my home!

With faith and joy, love and more,
I'll fill it with those things by the score."

So saying, and with one final heave,
He tore open his castle door.

Doors flung wide,
on the threshold he stood,
A thin smile and challenging glower,

"Come one, come all, and barter with me,
For now is the appointed hour!"


And as he filled his spacious abode,
I believe I'll finish this rambling ode,

I rhymed too much, there's barely a pace,
And the metaphors are all over the place.

Too, I'll say, halfway through,
it became more of a flex.

A challenge to myself, and to you,
To make the verbiage ever more complex.

But at the core of the matter,
on a serious note,
is a thought that should be engaged

The matter of trust and broken hearts,
Hope, that the pieces be salvaged.

For just as easily,
he could have deafened his ears,
And shuttered his heart some more,

But I, as Writer, naive as I am,
Had him ignore the pain from before.

Is this a reflection of me? Or you?
Perhaps both. No, probably me.

But everyone shares a similar pain,
Even if others can't see.

So to bring this to a close,
with less metre than prose,
My message, stated more simply,

Trust and hope,
those precious things,
spring eternally!