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as long as you are around
i would always remain a poet
my heart would always beat
keep my pen dancing
in this ballroom slate
of my brain

as long as you are around:
there would always still be words
metre, beat and rhyme;
there would still be songs
entitled to be sung just fine;


there would always
be raindrops kissing
this arid land;
and there would always still be
leaves falling for
this dreary
hopeless ground


but if perchance
you would be gone
these imperfect
fragments lost
in trance

my puzzled heart
would sooner die
missing your
unseen pieces
your saddest goodbyes
Bfspoemforme notmine mysweetestbf mypoet
the whisper of words
the groaning of tears
wailing of sighs
travailing of pains
can all be wrapped up in a six-letter word called
P R A Y E R.
it's not just a language uttered
language heard
and felt.
it's that sorrow within
longing unmet
pain screamed.
when all else fails
when no one listens
everything seems to fade
that's when you do this so often.
for you know,
someone hears and someone loves to hear.
So pray.
Pray often.
not just in your moments of weakness
but also in those moments of success.
P R A Y. #beholdheprays
Happy new year poets!
More books to read
More poems to write
More stories to pen.

Forget not to breathe
Burst out your feelings
Shed your tears through the ink
Hooray, rejoice in every words written.
Hers

He was hers
was
in the past.
Nevertheless still,
He is imprisoned by the agony erstwhile
is
now.
Oh how ardous it must have been!
to him
to her
To love him in the days to come
Foreseeing that she can't be in his heart
no matter how hard she tries
Because of her in his
So, until when?
Martyr she is!
He can't never be hers
Because He was hers
Even before time,
Today,
And by and by.
Mortals as we are;
in quest of the Divine.

Oh, how our weary souls longeth for Thee!
How we yearn to be with Thine.
How we seeketh to understand Thy attributes,
That we may loveth you, Divine.

The world has naught in store for us
Wandering as foreigners we art,
Waiting for a sheer bliss of rest,
Until we reach the Promised Land.

In here we fret, suffer and toil,
Battling and struggling over lure
Nonetheless, we won’t surrender
As we remember our blessed hope.
He was joy.

He was not just a baby born on a manger
born of a ****** and a carpenter.

He was joy.

He left His throne
embrace the lowliest of the lowliest
celebrated by shepherds whose identities matter not.

He was joy.

The angels declared, He'll bring goodnews
of which people will be saved from generations to generations and they will be filled with joy.

He was joy.

And an army of Angels exclaimed, "Glory to the Highest!"

Oh, what a joy He hath bring
for He is the Lord and King
His birth, a joy to all
Forever, I'll indeed treasure!
"You loved poetry long before I came into your life. But the poetry that you loved was just a shadow, I am its actual substance. I am your poetry incarnated." ~ PM


You are the subject of every words I put together,
With you as its inspiration, the art is much discovered.
Nothing beats the design and style I incorporate in my piece
For the color and delight is you, my ever beloved prince.

Indeed the loved I have for poetry is so long before you came
I loved it since I was a teen but I love it much more today
No wonder the message is so real like 3ds in a movie
For the emotions included here are feelings of reality.

You're my poetry incarnated for once you only lived in my dream
A dream yet to be explored and a dream I yearn, long and pray
At present, you're not just a man of shadow hidden in my words
For you have the face of a poet, pen has been your sword.

Sooner or later I'll behold your actual presence in a way God so ordained,
You're not just a shadow anymore but the substance of the poem I made.
you do not only write words
you make the words alive
as if they breathe
they talk
they move
they love.
every words you choose ~
sink and sing
the melody and ***-du-dum-dum beat
of every string.
All she can do is cry,
All she can feel is pain.
No one even dare to take her hand.
Sobbing, she wants to leave.
Saying to herself, it's easier to die than to survive and live.
Bang! Kills herself.
Popping clouds right atop,
Inside you are. Painting
curves your language is,
Sending gentle blooming bliss.

#dream #longing

— The End —