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Men with weak hearts
Can still love and love well,
Often better than the rest.
That strength is betrayed in
The ability to shed tears
Where other men shed blood.
They may write poems, music,
Or paint—it does not matter if
These are masterpieces or daubs,
Forgotten pieces of passion
Someday only recalled by those
Who loved the artist as well as the man.
Their power to change lives is not
In their expression, but devotion
To the people around them.
When artists, leaders and philosophers
Are forgotten too, these men are
Remembered for their power to feel
What others do not.
To them, beauty is ever-present
And love persists in the face of
Neglect, hardship and pain.
They can gaze at a field of flowers
And feel far more than most men who
Write a symphony.
They can look at the morning sun
And love it each day, for their
Days, they know, are uncertain,
As are day lilies who flame and die.
And yet they never complain,
For they are loved as others
Are not, by wives, children and friends.
To them, one piece of daylight is a gift,
While, to the grasping, selfish and bitter,
A century is not enough.
The weak-hearted protect even as they need protection.
And they labour, since the ones they love
Are weaker, even than they.
And deep in the night,
As their own hearts tremble,
They may awake and watch
To be sure that she still breathes
And that their children are safe
Even from bad dreams.
Though not faultless, those they love
Can always be sure of them.
They would sacrifice themselves
Just to know their families will thrive.
And the sacrifice may last
A lifetime and the weak heart
Becomes weaker.
Yet in the end and after,
They are immortal;
Living on in others’ hearts
Dedicated to those whose hearts make them strong.
A pinch in the heart
An almost torn apart
There's not even a start
Yet it ended so smart.
You painted my world with words
Words of happiness, love, heartaches
Words of heartaches, pain, tears
An art of nothingness and of played hearts
An almost art turned into ashes
Ashes turned into nothing
Nothing into a nonexistent word

If only that word bloomed into life
Maybe our story could have been printed
Somehow I hoped it would last
But it didn't even had a chance to start
And there are poems I made for you
Yet because of you
I wish this will be the last

You've always made me feel important
I never learned anything at all
'Cause like a star that became a black hole
I felt sorry for myself
I became an empty space
I am sorry
For I loved you...       on my own

I know I still do
But this madness has to end
I shouldn't be involved with you anymore
You who carelessly handled my heart
Made me feel like a Prada on sale;
Without a second thought, you pushed me away
Guarding your own heart but mine.

For always being there for you,
For making you feel special,
For being so annoying and frustrating,
For wanting to be with you always,
For starting those conversations,
For the late night texts I put you through,
I am sorry.

For singing you a lullaby at night,
For loving your voice over the phone,
For loving you;
For loving you more than I love myself,
For my eyes now filled with sadness,
I am so sorry for myself.
This is the last time I'll write about you.
This is the last piece I've ever written for you.
Sindi Kay 14h
They say past lives don’t exist
They aren’t real
We just need to hear about ourselves
It’s how we cope, just how we deal

We only exist until we don’t
DNA is why we’re “unique”
Horoscopes and the cosmos are for a mind that’s meek
We romanticize as shortcuts to answers we seek

Yet we hear great songs with our hearts
Before our ears
And every time a baby is born
Or a person dies
We shed tears

The clock never stops
even after years
Nostalgia creeps in
worse than our fears

You don’t stop getting deja vu
No matter how many nights we see the moon
It still has power in engulfing you
So plump, so bright
A big flashlight for the dark of night
The light at the end of the tunnel
A reminder of the suns return
A reason to look into the sky
A lighthouse for the nocturnal voyages

They say dreams are fragments of memory
But my dreams have shared destiny
And my friends have found rest in me
Through the idea of divinity
I’ve found the best in me

In every empty room
The wails and moans of a ghost can be heard
The remnants of yourself
Or another
Will always hurt
Until the next rebirth
A cruise,
towards a place
suddenly the waves shake me
the blue,
drown me in
hug me tightly
take me between choices
free but lost
sink and die
in the calm that I crave.

Give me time to float
air, pull me
sea, hold me
let me dying
while I ask this
to ***,

Can I shed tears
on things that are not mine
can I despair
For pain that is not my body
can I kneel down
on things that I can't have a second time
the entire world lays in bed,
everybody goes to turn off their mind,
my power switch is broken,
no matter how hard I try my mind stays alert,
can you teach yourself to not think,
can you learn how to not pick apart every mistake,
my pillowcase becomes an aquarium filled with tears,
sheets strangle my legs until they lay limp,
when im left alone with my mind it loses hold,
how many nights can you spend numb but feeling everything,
everything is a contradiction and no one knows the pain,
isolation is safe haven hiding in a purgatory,
how do you ever get out?
The embers still spark.
I’d mute them with tears,
But oddly everything has dried up.
Everything is either hot,
Or harsh cold.
At this crossroads
I can’t take the middle path
And so I stand frostbitten and burning bright.
Can't take the path I want so I'm standing around probably like an idiot, but right now that's okay, for now.
Sanny 1d
How do I ignore the calls from death?
It wants me there.

On the other side of life.

I see my own tears in the mirror.

I feel life leaving my body.

I don't want to be here anymore.

This life isn't for me.

I've fought long enough.
I've always known this is the way I'll go..

Do I finally have the courage?

To leave this all behind, to watch my loved ones from the other side?

If not not, when?
This life isn't for me..

I'm sorry.
my jokes are never funny enough
my mind is never sunny enough
Are my tears even runny enough
to be counted as real?

i was in love with a boy, i was not enough
i am in love with a boy, i am not enough
i will love a boy, i will not be enough
LadyM 1d
It's called having a "crush" for a reason:
Because it crushes your soul
until your ripped-up heart
and glass-sharp tears
completely dissolve you
into nothingness.
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