The single flower
Placed upon the rocky path
Tells of pain and loss.

The silent ocean
Cannot be charged with ******
For the life it took.

Top of the food chain,
Mortal men gasp their last breath
As she engulfs them.

Fooled by her silence
The respect for her power
Was left on the shore.

Drew was an artist who knew
That self-portraits were easy to do
She posed nearer and nearer
To her studio mirror
And it was there where Drew drew Drew

I dread the day
where I look to
you
sitting next to me like
there's nothing new
to learn or
find in
me

Where my hands are
so familiar
and this old
routine is
dull
and you
forget I'm
loving you
with all my
aching soul

you exist in the
darkest forests
of my thoughts
the deepest,
Ash Grove swamps,
and I'm afraid
of the lines I
can't change
the fault in me
that remains,
and you losing the
spark when you hear
my name

Oh god,
I dread the day.

write a poem everyday
make it a daily habit
note whatever you've to say
the bitter or the sweet.

stare at the screen before you
or the page if it's so
there's always something new
awaiting your ink's flow.

some you've to dig not much
a few need delving deep
some may feel like feather touch
a few would make you weep.

sometimes the hand would just not move
at other would run like horse
sometimes the words would sing and groove
cry out like waves' roars.

while you write you may bleed
or kiss the blue like bird
jotting down is all you need
the inner voice that's heard.

i pour your name
into my paper cuts
not self inflicted
but i still pick the scabs
because it’s a blood flow
that i can control

and my ****** writing
i have known this for a while
doesn’t make this any better
but maybe the tissues i send you
smeared with blood and tears and snot
will change your mind about it and me

i am a selfish
person down to my very core
i cover it up with empathy
and the occasional backhanded compliment
never to you always to myself
but ****** i want everybody to stay

when i say i
love you i really mean it
my love runs deeper than the selfish
need to never be alone
because love is all you need
besides the other necessities

Mozzarella on my Pizza just burnt my tongue
Moral of this event:
" The one you love the most is the one who hurts you the most."

Arms are weak and withered,
and the strings won't heed his shaking hands.
Pain's his only feeling, and that can't convey
what his gasping heart hungers to say
About her smile.. about her eyes,..
about her gasping breaths so frail and grey.

The symphony has begun
Playing mellow tunes
Beckoning the arrival of death
At the expense of him.
But his strings won't let him
Change the way the music is going,
His clammy hands trembling,
Shaking,
Breaking.
(He wore his heart on his hands.)
All he can do is watch
And listen
As the music drifts,
Deeper, slower...
Until her heart
Stops.

Arms are weak and withered, holding
cards upon the table. Folding
never was his strong suit anyway.
He waits a while in silence, knowing
her pain is no nearer to slowing.
Growing screams beckon plugs to pull away.
He doesn't know what's left to play,
but his withered fingers seem to know the way.

She listens as the melody starts,
and falters as she closes her eyes.
Arms are withered weary,
as the music slowly dies.

But as the silence comes around,
It revitalizes an old strength.
Calling upon the fundamentals of
An art once forgotten,
But its tremors will now resonate.

Tremors mark his trembling hands,
and the music is April, alive and new.
The monotone flat-line droning on
is in metronome time like when they were young,
and he matches her tempo, like they used to do.
He plays her life, her laugh, her smile...
The music stops, and after a while
the day is through. And he thinks to himself...
*Tonight is over... and there's the dawn...
But it marks the start of a day...
                                                   without you...

Why so ignorant?
Why so naive?
Why so blind?
You fill my eyes with fury.
Even though I feel this way,
My mindset, I shall not betray.
Because at the end of the day
What have you accomplished?
Homes demolished
Lives diminished.
You’ve scarred the young children,
Widowed the young women,
And caused regret for the old.
Where are our men?
In a pile in a forest.
Now tell me again,
What were you trying to accomplish?

Whatever it was,
You Lost.