A.I. Poet pounding at keys,
a lifetime of memories in
Chat GPT.

Punch up a sunset hues of
crimson and gold,

Throw in some birds,
Hit generate,
watch it unfold.

Selecting a font,
I couldn't
hazard a guess,

I'll just select an emotion
let A.I. do the rest.

Funny, this Insta-poetry is starting
to all sound the same,

Can't get any views,
I'm going insane.

Gotta find some new prompts
to up my game.

This Stupid AI ****,
is getting pretty lame!

Staring out into the crimson sky
the westbound sun melts into the horizon.

A red and gold puddle of translucency,
blends into an ocean
of majestic purples and blues.

Pinpoints of light begin to appear
as day succumbs to night.

I stand in silence,
near to tears.

Wondering where you've gone.

The radiance of the emerging moon
shines a beacon  into the vastness.

To no avail.

I know that you are gone.

And unlike my faith in dawning sun,
I hold no hope of your return-
Upon the morning.

Good Morning Is a prayer
not just a salutation,
and its return is the answer we pray for.

Goodnight is a promise,
that all is well and right,
and Good Mornings will follow as before.

You are my Good Morning,
my beginning, my new day.

You are the Goodnight I strive to reach.

So Good Morning My Love,
I hope your night was well.

You will be on my mind throughout the day.
Until I reach the evening,
and say goodnight to you.

My final act, my final prayer,
before my day is through.

A poem is just memories with you.
Lines on a page of special times we knew.

A moment,
a look,
a feeling,
something near to disbelieving.

Magic I only feel with you.
You are the poem,
I am the poet,
and these words are the love we share.

A record of time in rhythm and rhyme,
to show how much we care.

Your lips whisper poems in my ears,
and warm the blood that flows within my heart.

My creative juices begin to boil at your touch.
But your skilled hands hold me to a simmer.

I long to write the majesty that is you,
the masterpiece you've lain upon my soul.

Your love, My love,

has made me a poet.

And you are the poetry that makes me whole.

I want to touch you in a way,
that's playful, but not play.

That's gentle, yet firm.
Not taught, but learned.

Through a desire to love,
and be loved too.

Without any fears of exposing my all to you.
And a hoping that you will show all too.

So come play with me this game of love.
I long to see our future in your eyes,

Feel life's passions in your kiss,
and It's ecstasy in your sighs.

Eternity lives inside a lover's stare,
so come join with me in this gaze of love.

Let our eyes speak of things,
our tongues do not dare.

Just know,

This is no love game 

 Where we can simply pretend,
 we don't care.

Old poems
not lost but alone,
pressed between pages
dark and cold.

Should I write something new, or
Perhaps revive one of these
lonesome works of old?

Is the old not new
if it's never been told?

Oh so many pieces
Only known by me,

From dusky corners of my mind
to yellowing pages unseen.

Unfinished bits of sentiment,
lovelorn lyrics and rhyme.

Lost and lonely lines,
too good to have never been set down.

How long gathering dust and
locked away.

Before final words
Are found.