A new moon is seen as nothing but will go through phase after phase to build itself to a full moon, and repeat his cycle. No matter what phases we can admire its progress. Everyone loves to tell the moon of its beauty and presence.

Why is it that I have to be whole to be beautiful, can't we admire my progress.

I'm waiting for you still,
You can't understand me
Maybe for now, but you will.

I depicted you and bee.
I've found sounds of sorrow,
On that admiring scenery!

I saw the pictures you throw,
Didn't say anything but your eyes...
I know what they said me now.

Here reluctantly my body dies
For it can't resist to be alone
Please everyone give me advise.

I've been broken as my bone,
I try to figure out what is stress.
Anymore, I cannot be in that zone,
I'm going to make a progress.

looking back at my previous poems
published, deleted, drafts...
its become clear that i have forgotten part of my identity,
who i was before i left my poems in the dust.
observing the transformations in my words
reminds me of the words of my inner saboteur.

I remember the person who supported my writings,
my thoughts, my feelings...
someone on the other side
who wanted me not to succumb
but to compose and understand
why I felt such sorrow each day.

re-entering my world of poems,
the emotions i archived reflect
periods of my life.
One day i hope to recognize
the impact i made on myself
and the progress that has been achieved
throughout my year of words.

I enjoy something until i realize I can lose it;
A moment
A loved one
Life

The present is continually lost
yet somehow
progresses 
Regret and loss only live here when we chose.

A lone tree languished
In the world’s oldest
Forest
It being the first
Tree whose branches
Had been butchered for a book
Creating clean, crisp, pages
And how the tree moaned
It’s voice infecting the wind
Howling throughout the night
And lingering on into the day
Causing the others trees to shun it
They were content to merely sway
In the breeze
Or basking in high noon
Concerned with nurturing
Their own nutrients,
Their sap preserving their old ways
Until the first library
First bookstore
First College
Came to claim them all

There’s no such thing as triangles,
Or circles,
Or squares.
It’s a straight line,
Straight ahead you can stare.

There’s no backwards or sideways,
There’s no sudden curves.
There’s only then and now,
And heart and nerves.

So take a step. Then take two.
And watch as the line moves forward.