Die hard the poet's heart
Dashed with great fury against the wall.

Cursing to the heavens,
for sense of it all.

To see the beauty in the blood
 as it drips thick droplets from the blade.

To see, same said beauty, 
from a child's tears upon the grave.

Curse to the heavens.
Dash my heart against the wall.

And **** my poet eyes,
for the beauties seen in all.

Romantic adventures
are not moments to treasure,
The thrill of the chase no longer moves me.

Catch and release,
fish stories of fantasy.
Always Pining the one that got away.

Trophies on a wall,
I swear I had them all,
but tell me where are they today?

The thrill of the chase no longer moves me.
Give me a hand to hold,
a love that will soothe me.

Moments made and treasured,
through passing years.

Not just memories of glories, 
that quickly fade away.

Lemonade sun and tangerine dreams.
Voodoo smiles and passionate screams.

Lying in wait, like a wolf in the night
Teaching pleasures of ****** delight.

Kiss me like a stranger,
A lover you've known all your life.

In your deepest dreams in your darkest nights.

I'm always here to satiate your call,
The spectral lover who knows all.

Deepest urges, darkest desires,
I'll guide your hand, quench your fire.

Then release you my dear
when that lemonade sun
comes pouring in.

One final kiss
But I'll see you again.

I'll always see you again.

Even if it's only in dreams.

In a drunken kiss
I write of bliss.

debauchery, and pain.

Of pleasures unsavored,
of love unclaimed.

Of mornings without sunshine,
and evenings soaked in rain.

With a swollen head I sit
reading pages, I wonder did I even write.

And in melancholic forgetfulness 
I read with fear and delight.

Not knowing whether to be proud
or scream at the words before me.

Like waking in flight,
from an auto-pilot dream.

Not knowing if the words
came from the ***** or me!

Please make me stay,
why should we say, Goodbye?
Open up your heart, give love another try.
Don't close the door,
don't let it die.
Please make me stay,
we're running out of time.

Didn't I make you smile,
more than I made you cry?
Didn't I bring you pleasure?
I can still hear your sighs!
I'm running out of reasons,
I'm running out of rhymes.

Please make me stay,
why should we say, Goodbye?
Open up your heart, give love another try.
Don't close the door,
don't let it die.
Please make me stay,
we're running out of time.

Don't you know my heart breaks,
just the same as you.
Don't you know I feel pain,
in the same way too?
I'm running out of words,
we're running out of time

Please make me stay,
Please make me stay.
Don't close the door,
don't let it die.
Please make me stay,
we're running out of time.
we're running out of time.

Don't let our love run out of time.
Out of time
out of time
out of time

We met in a bar
had a few drinks 
did it in my car.

Just casual ***, 
all it was meant to be.

but somehow it felt like something more to me.

Her name was April, 
it was an evening in May,
now it's mid September 
and in my mind she still stays.

I visit that bar every night,
hoping she'll be there,
hoping I might, get a chance to see her.

To make things right,
to resolve these conflicts
I have in my mind.
To tell her I felt something,
can we try one more time?

To tell her it didn't feel casual to me.

But apparently, 
It did to her.

I wonder how often casual ***
is really casual?

[verse 1]
I call you on the phone
a thousand miles from home
still I can feel your breath in my ear.
[guitar]
This trip has been hell,
I'm telling you baby,
It's so hard to sleep
when you're not here.

[chorus]
So hold the phone a little closer,
let my eyes drink you in.
Tell me that you want me,
imagine my skin on your skin.

[verse 2]
This tour is nearly over,
another month and I'll be home,
the crowds and the spotlight,
can't ease the pain of being alone.

[instrumental Bridge]

[chorus]
So hold the phone a little closer,
let my eyes drink you in.
Tell me that you want me,
imagine my skin on your skin.

[breakdown]
This tour is nearly over,
another month and I'll be home,

So hold the phone a little closer,
Baby, I'm coming home.
Hold the phone a little closer,
I'm so tired of being alone!

[outro]
So hold the phone a little closer,
keep holding on Baby
I'm coming home
I'm coming home
I'm coming home...

Prompts:
Starts with a mournful electric guitar arpeggio and steady traditional drum groove. Sad male vocals enter over sparse bass and atmospheric alternative rock textures. Chorus swells with bluesy lead guitar lines interweaving, drums intensifying. Bridge features expressive guitar solo before fading outro.

The moon rises high into the night.
Casting reflections across the rain soaked streets.

Images of you walking away is all I see.

I chase you through the ripples,
disappearing beneath my feet.

I chase you through the dawn
until your reflection is just gone.

And through tears I wonder,
Will you ever return to me?

Or will your reflection
haunt me forever,
within my memories.

I wonder why some poems
flounder and some poems fly.

I do not cry, or ponder to long,
for to write simply for others
somehow seems wrong.

I've written many lines
that will never see the light of day,
not that their better or worse
than those on display.

Their just a piece of me I'm not ready to give away.

I know that notion may seem obscene,
what could he possibly be hiding
that we haven't yet seen?

I can assure you in the grandest scheme of things
my skeletons are few,
But shouldn't a poet always hold
at least one secret
or maybe even two?

Kisses short and sweet.
Kisses long and deep.
Of all the Kisses I have known, I long for yours and yours alone.
You're January I'm December, opposites yet close together.
Your thoughtful analizations,
My dreams without hesitation.
Your emotional stability.
My artistic insanity.
Your whisper to my shout, my bass to your treble.
If I'm the words then you're the song.
So take my hand and sing along.
Because the music's always better,
when we play together.

Love is just a dream of hormone imbalanced teens.
It does not exist in reality.

As I struggle to understand the longings of a man,
*** is not the answer for me.

I've had your body in every way,
Still it's your heart and soul for which I pray.

To meet your gaze in the moonlight,
hold your hand in our twilight,
to disappear into the sunset with you.

I wonder,
do you feel the same, or am I just insane? 

It's the only answer that I long for,
and fear the most from you.

Empty your pockets before
you tell me your lies.

Because pockets hold guns,
money, and keys,
and 1000 other things you don't want me to see.

In the beginning we were naked
with nothing to hide.

We walked through this garden side by side.

But now silk robes and deep pockets
complete your disguise.

So empty your pockets 
before you speak to me,
I demand proof
that there's nothing to see!

In fact don't even bother to speak.

I refuse to believe, 
until you've shown yourself to be
every bit as naked
as you've forced me to be!

Sometimes it feels,
the world spins just for me.

Sunrises and sets,
appearing magically.

Night skies flickering,
Milkyway drifting by,

It's enough to bring tears to my old eyes.
This majesty of being alone,
A bit of a miracle all on its own.

On this big blue marble eight billion call home.

Some no doubt are seeing exactly what I see,
and I wonder if they feel as special as me?

Do they stare into the sky and think to themselves,
it spins just for me?

My God I hope they do!!!

If I was ten years younger
I'd show you a thing or three!

I was only seventeen
She was at least twenty years older than me.

But I was in the mood for her knowledge
and she taught with style and grace.

And thinking back, even now
it puts a smile on my face.

I loved her through the summer
It ended in the fall.

And I never told a soul.
She was married after all.

I heard the other day
that she had passed away.

So I visited her one last time
and discreetly
I placed a rose upon her grave.

I thanked her for the lessons learned
and all the love she gave.

******* a poet
You'd think it would be easy.

Just avert your eyes, don't see me.

Let my words flounder upon pages unread,
surely that's the way to make a poet dead.

Alas I must say that's very far from true.
You see lonely poets write even more poetry
when they're feeling blue.

When they're feeling beat down, broken, torn in two,
It seems that's when their best work shines through.

So, How do you **** a poet?
I wonder why you'd want to.

But hey that's just my opinion,
if you still do.

Try a gun that usually works!