In seeing,
as a child,
breathing blinded.

As we fail to remember,
what we want,
and need at that moment.

We are greedy as ants,
following the path,
striving for the same leaf.

We are small,
humbled by blue sky,
and the night stars.

Only then we remember,
who we really are.

Which one do you FALL under?
LIKE me for me or
ALTER me if you will
MEMORIES is what makes us
EXISTENCE is what keeps us
SEEING is believing

not especially social,
just a couple of friends,
so our interaction qualifies,
special, very,
with sincerity I say,
fancy seeing you here

come and gone,
come back again,
restarting an engine,
that been redesigned
to be as simple as
you and me,
reader, writer

quit, here, brevity here,
but say out loud that word,
fancy
one mo' time

part fantasy,
special, very,
a poem read,
a fan friendship established
here, where words and eyes
intersect, a very fancy place...

every time i see you
i want to cut my hair
you loved it long
i will become
everything you hate

Every second away from you hurts more than the last,
When your name appears on my screen
There is a moment of excitement,
Then hours of pain

I don’t know when I will see you next,
My birthday?
Valentines Day?
Our 8 months together?

Not knowing is what’s killing me,
Before I could count down and it was keeping me going
But now I have nothing
No idea when I get to see you

If I get to see you.

The night is here.
But in some way,
We are not.
It's almost as if sometimes,
Just sometimes,
We begin to feel as though maybe,
We aren't viewing the same stars,
That there are an infinite number to choose from.

And though thy are in thought,
You still avoid the thoughts,
Of how small you are in this vast universe,
And that maybe you and I,
Are not seeing the same stars.
That perspective is all and everything.
That no,
That beautiful blue star you see so brightly,
Among the millions of others,
Only seems to catch my eye for a moment.
A fleeting glimpse of what would be,
Could be,
Can be,
Won't be.

Yet still dreamers dream,
Thinkers think,
And sleepers sleep.
Because all in all,
Not everything will have some deeper meaning,
Some great devotion,
Some unknown message
That is screaming itself from the rooftops and the mountains.
That maybe a poem is just that,
A string of words with seemingly poetic rhythm.

So as time continues moving,
And 4D creatures in a 3D world continue breathing,
May we all continue counting stars that are in the past,
And continue breathing the air that's been with us for centuries,
And continue writing seemingly meaningful poetry,
With strange endings.