Being a poet
is both a pain and a privilege.

All you do is
bleed your emotions
on a thousand pages
while people sing your praises
for ages.

when moon rise,
      you will shine
      be who you are
      and you will shine

i love you,
i want you,
but i can't have you.

birds are chirping
flowers have bloomed
love is flowing
but yours is fading

i bathe in serene
sleepy mountainside ledges
kissed by lips of fall

it was a cold night.
    i have no shelter.
    cold, tired, and hungry.

you were so down.
    heart's been thrown,
    looking from afar,
    wishing on the stars.

it's already late.
    you, walking around,
    found me on the Nile.
    too blue,
    but happy to be found.