Matches constantly lit
No char
No ash

Unscathed

No fire
No ember
Just memories it gave

Drain my feelings into the night sky,
where only the stars can hear.
Suffocate my thoughts with
the fresh midnight air.
The only light that reaches my tears
is the moonlight.
But I still only want you here
listening to everything I have to say.

you bring joy in this earthly hour of time
spreading love and light.
kindness that you pour out of your soul.
making and creating the longing taste of hope and faith.
you are as beautiful as a flower bees.
a sun and a star that combines in day and night
nourishing to flourish the spirit of one's maze body.
eternal of it's youth to color a smile in your eyes.
and paying to shine
and as bright as the rainbow sky.

Another stanza, another, empty poem

Another line of cliche sorrows and oh

Don’t forget a splash of self-hatred and a

Sprinkle of age old, seasoned, melancholy.

How many words will it take

How many conscientiously polished

Lovingly carved, painstakingly painted

Smiles and rueful laughs will it take

For you to realise my love there is, no, end.

This won’t end, you won’t find

Your soul or your peace in hollow

Worthless words that you purge from

Your heart and- smear onto paper

Poets are lonely, where did I read that?

You don’t cry, you bleed silent agony

Into ink, into words, into poetry

You scar page after page with your

indecipherable rage at this universe

And you tarnish another pearly white sheet

With your coal black pain and silenced

Tales of lonely, lonely days wasted by-

Desperately scribbling, madman letters

Frantic to understand, the millions of

Atoms, nerves, bone, flesh that is

Pathetically, tragically, you.

And you knife away at your thoughts with

A pen in a homicidal attempt to

Slaughter the hurt inside and bury them under

Empty words and barren phrases

Poetry will not teach you to love your

Jagged edges like razor blades or your

Missing parts to the enigma that is well,

Yourself. Poetry is your hideaway from the

Ugly, ugly truth that you my love,

Don’t know who you are at all

So you continue to bleed in ink,

Cry in words and bruise on pages.

But this? Is just another stanza,

Another, empty poem.

I suppose I am
a midnight sky
as you keep
finding reasons
to be afraid
of the dark