#love-poem - Hello Poetry

Perhaps they were right putting love into books. Perhaps it could not live anywhere else. — William Faulkner Faulkner said that maybe love cannot live outside of libraries If his assessment is accurate then I want to pen our passion on every piece of paper I possess I will produce poetry proclaiming the severity of our seductions And scribble you and I between asterisks on the pages of periodicals so we can be among the stars as well Darling, I will turn all of our dates into diary entries and change the definitions for words like brilliance and glorious into descriptions of us When I’m through, we will have the most eternal love stories around

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Apr 18, 2016

Apr 18, 2016 at 5:09 PM UTC

breana-mae-estrada

Love stories.

Perhaps they were right putting love into books. Perhaps it could not live anywhere else. — William Faulkner Faulkner said that maybe love cannot live outside of libraries If his assessment is accurate then I want to pen our passion on every piece of paper I possess I will produce poetry proclaiming the severity of our seductions And scribble you and I between asterisks on the pages of periodicals so we can be among the stars as well Darling, I will turn all of our dates into diary entries and change the definitions for words like brilliance and glorious into descriptions of us When I’m through, we will have the most eternal love stories around

20

I miss you More than a drowning sailor Misses the oxygen that gives life Misses the land that supports You are my oxygen You are my land I miss You

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Aug 30, 2014

Aug 30, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC

matthew-j-dourow

Drowning

I miss you More than a drowning sailor Misses the oxygen that gives life Misses the land that supports You are my oxygen You are my land I miss You

7

Not often did he wish for things, He had few petty desires. “What’ll come will come,” he’d say, with a knowing nod. And he was happy that way. He’d smile. Most called him an accomplished man He left the past behind. His monsters were gone Defeated at last Not many were considered truly content these days, But this man, they said, he’d made it. He’d sit by the fire with a cup of tea. He’d read stories to his children, he’d sing them to sleep. But his heart longed for little more, just one final request Not for himself, but for the woman that lay near. The most magnificent woman he’d had the pleasure to know She lit up each room with a heavenly glow. This woman, he’d said, oh, she’s one of a kind, Not one word was questioned when he explained why. She was the kind to leave food on the sill for the cat That had never belonged to her Because she couldn’t bare the look in its eyes When the neighbour three doors down no longer could. She was the type who could never in her life tell a joke Because she was out of breath with laughter Long before the punchline arrived. She was impossible to hold a grudge to, A blessing to the world. Though insecurity engulfed her Self-esteem was unheard of Seeing herself through devils’ eyes, Heartbroken at her own reflection. If the man wanted one last thing, It would be a day in his life, for her Plain and simple. She’d see the way she curled her hair Behind one ear when she laughed. A golden noise, full of light, He wished she knew That it put everything right. His dying wish was, to the love of his life; “Please, let her see herself, through someone else’s eyes.”

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Aug 6, 2014

Aug 6, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC

hannahb

Through someone else's eyes.

Not often did he wish for things, He had few petty desires. “What’ll come will come,” he’d say, with a knowing nod. And he was happy that way. He’d smile. Most called him an accomplished man He left the past behind. His monsters were gone Defeated at last Not many were considered truly content these days, But this man, they said, he’d made it. He’d sit by the fire with a cup of tea. He’d read stories to his children, he’d sing them to sleep. But his heart longed for little more, just one final request Not for himself, but for the woman that lay near. The most magnificent woman he’d had the pleasure to know She lit up each room with a heavenly glow. This woman, he’d said, oh, she’s one of a kind, Not one word was questioned when he explained why. She was the kind to leave food on the sill for the cat That had never belonged to her Because she couldn’t bare the look in its eyes When the neighbour three doors down no longer could. She was the type who could never in her life tell a joke Because she was out of breath with laughter Long before the punchline arrived. She was impossible to hold a grudge to, A blessing to the world. Though insecurity engulfed her Self-esteem was unheard of Seeing herself through devils’ eyes, Heartbroken at her own reflection. If the man wanted one last thing, It would be a day in his life, for her Plain and simple. She’d see the way she curled her hair Behind one ear when she laughed. A golden noise, full of light, He wished she knew That it put everything right. His dying wish was, to the love of his life; “Please, let her see herself, through someone else’s eyes.”

41

* Her hand brushes against my own my mind screams louder than even the most horrific of bombs to hold it back to close those last few ******* feet between her lips and mine but all I feel all that shakes my entire body and soul is this crippling shyness it refuses to go it digs its toxic roots down to the depths of my stomach and refuses to let go and I can't and I won't and I don't hold her hand and I wonder forever if she could have loved me back *

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Aug 3, 2014

Aug 3, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC

hannahb

Shy

* Her hand brushes against my own my mind screams louder than even the most horrific of bombs to hold it back to close those last few ******* feet between her lips and mine but all I feel all that shakes my entire body and soul is this crippling shyness it refuses to go it digs its toxic roots down to the depths of my stomach and refuses to let go and I can't and I won't and I don't hold her hand and I wonder forever if she could have loved me back *

33

She is the first springtime shower a fresh promise of something new The foundation to newfound life around her a persona of all that is true Soon, she is a summer downpour A welcome respite from scorching heat Every drop i crave, every storm near surrounds me Her water is soon air, an overwhelming necessity Later, an autumn storm. Accompanied by a bite A wind so harsh and bitter Makes me forget her first spring life And lastly, a soft snowfall. Her floods have turned to ice Frozen and forgotten The damage heals with time Storms must come full circle none truly have an end But to have known this girl, What a privilege. She was a living monsoon, a friend.

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Aug 2, 2014

Aug 2, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC

hannahb

Monsoon

She is the first springtime shower a fresh promise of something new The foundation to newfound life around her a persona of all that is true Soon, she is a summer downpour A welcome respite from scorching heat Every drop i crave, every storm near surrounds me Her water is soon air, an overwhelming necessity Later, an autumn storm. Accompanied by a bite A wind so harsh and bitter Makes me forget her first spring life And lastly, a soft snowfall. Her floods have turned to ice Frozen and forgotten The damage heals with time Storms must come full circle none truly have an end But to have known this girl, What a privilege. She was a living monsoon, a friend.

22

You are The first delicate ray of sunshine On a dreary Novembers’ day You are The pounding rush of adrenaline Felt at a concert barrier You are The reassuring smile Treasured in the midst of calamity You are The warm woollen blanket Wrapped round my shoulders at night You are The butterflies found inside me At the peak of a roller coaster You are The first birdsong At the end of a sleepless night You are Every beauty in this world To me.

0

Jul 23, 2014

Jul 23, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC

hannahb

A letter to you.

You are The first delicate ray of sunshine On a dreary Novembers’ day You are The pounding rush of adrenaline Felt at a concert barrier You are The reassuring smile Treasured in the midst of calamity You are The warm woollen blanket Wrapped round my shoulders at night You are The butterflies found inside me At the peak of a roller coaster You are The first birdsong At the end of a sleepless night You are Every beauty in this world To me.

21