what does being a hopeless romantic mean?
is it writing poems about people who don't exist?
is it wanting to be older and in love so bad, while just being fourteen?
is it wanting to feel a presence of love, standing in a summers mist?
is it imagining arms around you every night?
is it thinking of someone taking you on long drives?
because it seems like it just might
be a little while longer before we live those lives


©L.F.

twice now I've kissed you
deep within my dreams
and in that world it feels so real
but it's not all what it seems
I will replay those moments
in fear that they will fade
I will keep them like memories
that my heart has made

adsorb or absorb

it was absorbine, junior

serendipitous or duplicitous we are lost

one thing means another,
and
if I am your enemy,
for some forgotten curse or theft,

I ask, I pray, as you say,
un give me the enemy name.

Claim me friend and and drink from my wine,

let us imagine the best of times are when
our children's children

all know the math and make the best
of everything we ever
imagined, in a perfect world.

I'd like to dream of a dress as white as snow.
But then again what do I know?
I'd like to imagine a stone cool as water.
But then again why even bother?
I'd like to think about all the things to come.
But I suppose not until right now is done.

The Universe, is it big? Or is our imagination of it is?

Are we alone? Indebted to the loan of the

unknown

who created us and the other organisms

who we disown,



How far will we go?



Where will our tempt to know more lead us?



Will it take us to other places with other organisms whom we

shall fight because we are nothing but

selfish

we care about the selfies

and the money and the things which we

own,



How far will we go?



I am more fascinated by other organisms because

they are

different

then us, they don't

fight over a spilled bowl,

they don't have emotions like us all,

but still, they survive, at least they try to and we

do them the

opposite,

our own fall,



How far will we go?



I don't know when we will find

life outside of our planet but if we

do

Mark my words,

we shall not leave them alone

because it is our nature to

fight,

for our own survival, no for our

ego,

Now, we will **** them

all,



How far will we go?

~A poem.

We could have a kind of farm,
I suggest,
With a little shop attached,
We could make jam and lemon curd,
Maybe chutney or,
Other things in little packaged jars,
I could bake things,
You could sell paintings there too,
We would only grow vegetables,
And fruit,
We would cook things with love,
Labour the earth with love,
Live together in love,
I feel sure that I could work the soil,
I have always felt an uncertain hard need in my bones,
To give something back to Mother Nature,
And I grew up in the country,
So I feel sure I would acclimatise,
But it is only a fantasy,
A sort of a story,
Even though it does sound nice either way.

Maybe I went a hair too far
And maybe should have cared a little more
Maybe I said some things I shouldn't,
But you said you loved me for my candor
I was never one to apologize
And I hate that about myself
But even so I’ll never call you back
Or collect my things from your shelf.
Just know I’ll not forget
The time we spent together apart
Talking about poetry silently
And bashing modern art.
Did you see the signs?
That I valued time most when I spent it alone?
That I love that Keats quote,
“The poet has no identity of his own.”?
For even this is a manufactured feeling
I tell a lot of lies
I never had a loved one
And I live a lot of lives.

I thought the ocean was waving
but it's only me
dancing around the sand
creating imagination
and end up red in embarrassment.