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What a waste
Waste of beauty, potentials and dreams
I guess she had plans for the future like you and me
What to do and what to be
like a dust blown into the air
They're now ascended into space
Ourselves we must now brace
Her demise a hidden message only for an eloquent ace
But don't stop trusting in his(God) imminient grace
For she has gotten to the end of her very race
The day will wake and she will not stir
You will call her name but she lay still
Glance At her preferred spot and she's not there
You will gaze upon her meadow saffron but she won't care
Because She has gone into the darkness
But her smile in our hearts remainst the brightest
I will miss her the slightest
So I write you dry your tears
While she's laid to rest
I urge you cryless
A tribute written to console a friend of mine who lost a beloved friend of hers
Sorry she had to pass on so soon.
The title can also be waste or cryless depends on the readers
Wrote this poem for her(my friend) to stop her from shading tears
Äŧül Jul 31
I feel so good when I am loved.
Getting loved is not in my control.
But I can still love you honestly.

You stay busy with your preferences,
Exchanging love is my Preference,
I love you so much, but I fear you too.
My HP Poem #1875
©Atul Kaushal
She gives me strength
She's truly beautiful
She's my
Happiness and joy
She's the smile on my face
She's my world
My first crush
She's my everything
My heart's desire
And she's my beautiful wife..
She's Beautiful
lmnsinner Jun 10
you haven’t written me a love poem in so long

around midnight,
two too together,
climb in to bed,
covers tucked,
up to their chins,
happy old souls
settling in 4 the evening...

suddenly followed,
by a furious
sixty seconds of
running and rubbing,
semi-serious sinning,
hands up ‘n down
any part, nearest, handy,
public or private, dandy,
maybe even a minute moaning,
a simple reassurance,
a kind of insurance,
covering bases,
first, second and third,
yeah, he/she to me, attracted...

exhausted, contorted,
exalted, these two fossils,
rising like a holy ghosts,
from the dust bin of
a jointed storied history,
begin to race, who will,
be first to sleep-snoring...


one of them thinking
in those waning moments,

you haven’t written me
a love poem in so long,

the other, thinking happily,

ha! finally learned to keep
poems, short and simple

and both of them
kaput, lights out darkened,
until coffee arrives by
seven thirty morn light,
handmade, by hand delivered...
She's my world
And my life
She's the
Beat to my heart
She's my everything in life
And she's my
Beautiful wife..
My Wife
Nat Lipstadt Apr 25
perfect summary, of pre-times, the ex-diurnal regularly raggedy,
lyric line, of lunar linear days, wave to it hi/bye crooked jaggedly

foretelling, of a first time, when world was self-imprisoned, wondering,   a sin of commission, an omission from a shut-up confession

guilty of laxity, no perspicacity, our fortune telling, loved our ignorance,
lazy greediness let sickness rule, everyone pointing no, not me, fooled

heroes dying in saving, rich in New Zealand hiding, while poets
march in punctilious timing, mourning lost freedom to be unafraid

all thinking, now disbelieving, we’ve lived so well so long,
but the fault-lines cracking showing all of us were emperors naked

from now on, we’ll live so long, not so well, suspecting each other,
the masks we will wear forevermore, dual purposed, protect and

hide our ashamed faces, gowned to disguise, finger pointing
not my fault, but the curve of life and death, proclaiming good bye:

so long so well, so long glass houses, so long, age of so swell, we too, sophisticates, above the fray, impervious innocence, so well we dead

gutless guiltless

^ ”And I don't know a soul who's not been battered
I don't have a friend who feels at ease
I don't know a dream that's not been shattered
or driven to its knees
But it's all right, it's all right

We've lived so well so long
Still, when I think of the road
we're traveling on
I wonder what went wrong
I can't help it, I wonder what went wrong

“American Tune” by Paul Simon
Sat April 25 twenty twenty
5:06am fifty thousand dead
On my worst days
I'm a mess
On my best days
I'm a terrible mess
Most of the time
I'm a gracefully shattered soup bowl,

I'm a wonderful mess
Glorified mess
Confident mess
I'm 'gonna show them what I got' mess
I'm 'Better days are coming' mess
I'm a mess with a hope,

Ideas, I'm an innovative mess
I'm a lonely mess
'i don't know who I am' mess
I'm a lost mess
I'm a proud mess
You should see me
I walk bodly, keep my head up, strut about like I was America's first model
I embrace the mess that I am
Because this mess is a
Friend, daughter, student, leader
This mess is a lover, partner, ride or die
This mess is imperfectly perfect
This mess makes mistakes
Has regrets
But this mess will never give up...
Truth is , I'm not even a mess anymore
I'm just a shattered clay,
BrokenSoup bowl
My Potter's touch failed me...
This is a poem about life, growing up and trying your best to keep your head up even when it's impossible to. Embrace those bad days and remember to be kind to yourself, take it one step at a time... you'll get there
I love her eyes
When you look at me
When you whisper my name
My heart beats for you
When I'm in love with you
I love my life,
Because your forever a part of it too.
I Love Her Forever
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