Dawn breaks, too early, a hollow sound,
My sleep undone, on restless ground.
Your absence echoes, a constant ache,
Each waking moment, for your sake.

I tried to push, to feel the cold,
Of silence given, a story told.
But fear outweighs, a lonely dread,
That you are lost, words left unsaid.

Your Whispered Truths, I hold them tight,
Against the shadows of the night.
My mind spins tales, of what might be,
Then trust prevails, you'll come to me.

Our pasts entwined, a fragile grace,
A bond we formed, in time and space.
A reason hides, behind the veil,
Let not that reason, make us fail.

You are my world, my beating core,
Without your light, I'm nothing more.
A fading breath, a darkened sky,
A broken heart, where dreams all die.

I seek to lift, to bring you cheer,
But distance breeds, a rising fear.
My words descend, to somber tone,
A heavy weight, I bear alone.

My love persists, a burning flame,
This ride we share, beyond all blame.
First touch, first kiss, a future bright,
Awaits us still, in morning's light.

I'll wait, I'll write, I'll hold you near,
Until you speak, and banish fear.
Please, let me know, what holds you fast,
Let this dark silence, be the last.

Each day a letter, sent with care,
A silent plea, upon the air.
If you desire, I'll walk away,
Just speak the word, and end this day.

The map unfurls,
irrelevant.
Any point touched by your light
becomes the center.

Late nights breathe,
under a sky dusted with stars,
and the pull,
irresistible,
of a gaze that anchors me.

Let them watch,
the curious eyes,
the fleeting judgments.
Within your orbit,
I am home.

No gilded cage,
no borrowed glamour,
just the quiet hum
of two souls entwined,
making the mundane shimmer.

Absence,
a hollow echo.
The world muted,
awaiting the vibrant hue
of your return.

Moonlight spills,
a silent invitation
to a space where only
tenderness resides,
painting moments eternal.

Each shared step,
a soft rhythm against the quiet,
anywhere, everywhere,
soaked in the indelible rain
of this boundless affection.

My forever started the moment I met you,
A simple breath, a world rearranged.
We laughed, two spirits entangled,
Learning the quiet rhythms of existence,
Each day, a soft discovery,
A gentle unfolding.

That first virtual kiss, like rain on our faces,
A digital spark igniting a real flame,
A cinematic moment etched deep within.
I know your history, every shade and contour,
Yet I hunger for the retelling,
Each detail is a new sunrise.

Your brushstrokes, a continuous melody of colors upon the canvas,
They hold me captivated, a private symphony of hues.
You have truly been seen, wholly embraced,
Just as you are, a vulnerable offering.
Look into these eyes, love's silent plea,
I tell you 'I love you', A Whispered Promise.

I dream of your presence at the final curtain,
Your face, a beacon as shadows lengthen.
To fall with grace, your hand in mine,
At that last breath, a shared stillness.
Is that alright? This profound yearning,
This desire for eternity with you.

May your presence linger when I falter,
When the path becomes unclear, and I stray from myself.
I pray for your strength, your gentle guidance,
To lift me up when the weight becomes too much.
A warm celebration, our tapestry of years,
Woven with tenderness and unwavering faith.

I envision our future, a living fairy tale,
Family dinners, roots deepening into shared earth.
Teaching little voices the simple courtesies,
"Thank you," "please," the foundations of kindness.
Knowing, with you by my side,
Everything will always be more than alright.

the saddest part of dying
is what you forgot to do
the ideas born in lucid dreams
that vanished in the hue
the mountains never seen
the oceans never crossed
the poems written on scraps of paper
a lover's smile now lost
the tears you held inside
the chances never taken
the landscape of your life
an oasis now forsaken

where the hell am I
I don't recognize this place
we are led like cows to slaughter
blind to this disgrace
we take their poisons with a grin
while they get filthy rich
they play us like a lab of rats
then kick us to the ditch
our taxes buy their mansions
the market is their bank
they wallow in their sick perversions
their eyes are dark and blank
this is the final scene
where we proceed or wave the towels
do we let these ******* get away
or feed them to the cows

1-**
Fourteen moons have passed, a testament,
To a love that bends, yet never breaks its hold.
Like tides, we've known closeness, distance, rent,
Yet hearts, like shores, return, and stories unfold.

My heart, a compass, spins only to you,
Through valleys deep and peaks that reach the sky,
Everyday Love, our bond forever true,
Stronger for the journey, you and I.

Valleys traversed, peaks climbed, we stand,
A testament to a love that knows no end.
A melody touched my soul, hand in hand,
A devotion that time cannot transcend.

I cannot give three days, my only one,
For in its chambers, only you reside,
Everyday Love, beneath the setting sun,
I give you every day, my heart's true tide.

There is a fire that consumes quietly,
its fingers tender as they trace the outlines
of things we were once too afraid to burn.
A heat, soft as loss,
devouring without asking —
like the stars that fall
in silent bursts,
vanishing without a sound
but leaving the night warm,
like the stillness after the storm.

I sit by the hearth,
the flames licking at the silence,
as if they know
that destruction wears the face
of something fragile —
the way a lover leaves,
softly, as though they were never there,
and yet, the room remains
so full of them
you wonder
if absence could fill a space
with something deeper than presence.

The fire speaks in ashes,
as if to say,
"I was once the sun,
and I, too, will set."
But still, I reach my hands toward it,
searching for the warmth
of things that vanish —
the way a poem disappears
on the page,
leaving graphite stains
in the shape of absence,
telling you everything
without a word.

The hearth hums with the quiet
of things undone —
a quietness like the seamless
works of Rilke,
where the evening spreads its wings
like a forgotten prayer
that no one remembers to say.

Here, too, in this soft destruction,
there is no voice
but the one that burns the edges
of every thought
until it is nothing but the flicker
of light you cannot hold.

I burn not because I wish to be
consumed,
but because I know
that some things must be lost
before they can be remembered,
like the way the heart still beats,
long after the body forgets
how to feel.

And the hearth,
a poet in its own right,
sings a hymn of things
we cannot keep —
the fire dancing
in the shape of what we leave behind,
warm,
and empty,
like a song that was never meant to end.