Broken shards plastering time.
Nothing but pain left to rhyme.
Moments of life, left in death
Searching for the final breathe

Reflections depleted to a stain
As love is left emulating pain.
One more kiss upon the brow
As the tainted lips disavowed

Mornings dew and birds call
As the feet take to the long hall.
Brightest of lights, message sent
For the fools broken knees, bent.

Bitterness of sweetest taste.
Such an iglorious waste.
Kneel before, as they sing
Await the golden tones ring.

All I want is for the right man to enter my life that's supposed to be there.

In my dreams..
I picture him having rough strong hands that are lined with experience.
I picture him running his hands softly across my damaged past,
Lingering over the shattered places within my heart.
Kissing me so deeply, engulfed in unspeakable passion erasing every ounce of doubt that arises.
I picture him grabbing my hand, standing tall beside me, at the most crucial times, when others have left me...
I picture him saying...
"I love you."
I picture me believing it because the truth will be in his eyes.
And when he says,
"I'll never let you battle anything ever again alone."
It'll be in this small moment of pure bliss,
That...
I picture myself thanking God,
Because he turned a tiny dream of mine into a reality.

If you ever question my writings...
I would just say
And I think that many real poets would agree in here..
Writing is an occasional pain
Especially when your mind is bombarding you with thoughts in the most unusual way...or at the middle of the night waking up from a dream...
You can not just decide ,
Now I'm going to write
It can be sometimes only just a sentence that knocking on your minds door
And it might have to wait for its time to come and be written into a poem
Writing can be about anything
When your heart is overflowing with emotions, no matter they are nice or sad
A real poets mind will find the way to express all that ...
Poets are givers of fantasy to others who have them less..
A person somewhere miles away who reads the words can understand that is acceptable to feel either way
When you hurt it hurts in black and white,
And when you are happy even the rainbow palette would not know to express what it feels like
But the poet does.