I have a small bed
It doesn't bother me
It's cozy and treats me well
Most would see it as too small
They would get rid of it
To get a bigger bed
I like my small bed
Because when she's over
She has to cuddle in nice and close
So I'll keep my small bed
Because it treats me well

What are you laughing about
She ask when I look at her
Do you want to take a nap
She ask when I'm still tired
Can you rub my back
Such a simple request
What is it you see in my eyes
Innocents with small hits of coy
Why do you say you're evil
It's easier then being nice
I can hear your heart
She says with her head on my chest

A silver tongue is owned by one whom speaks
with a way to ensnare those who listen.
I myself have silver fingers.
Though it is true my words could be spoken,
more power is applied to them written.
With silver fingers my words ensnare the mind
of the reader.
Pulling them into the worlds I have created.
Drawing forth the very emotions that I so desire
the reader to feel.
Though a silver tongue is powerful to those that
can hear it, silver fingers are powerful to all
that read the words created.

This was requested by a fiery flower
A poem that surrounds the petals
To envelope and captivate
While drawing up images within the mind
A simple thought, a simple desire
To bring about a work brought from the depths
Though this is easier said then done
A simple request made by a fiery flower
A request for words to paint upon the canvas
But while some can pull forth from the ether
This can be more of a trek for me
From the point of desired which angle to go with
To how long it should be
And so, as requested by a fiery flower
Here is the end result.

Heated, beaten, burned, abused
In this forge this all happens.
With such powerful trials,
the weak is eliminated leaving the strong.
In this forge pain is replaced by strength,
sorrow by solace, and wounds with scars.
For as all that brings us these, a better
form grows within.
In this forge, the constant, rhythmic beating
keeps as a reminder that so long as it burns,
we grow stronger.

There used to be a time when she couldn’t get enough of my touch
Now she would rather feel the embrace of a cactus
When did she stop loving me?
There used to be a time when she loved to read what I wrote
Now she makes excuses to why she doesn’t read my words at all
When did she stop loving me?
There was a time she used to love to cuddle in bed
Now she wants it all and I sleep on the floor
When did she stop loving me?
She used to listen to my concerns, and trust my feelings
Now she ignores how I feel and condemns my concerns
When did she stop loving me?
She used to be scared of losing me so I promised I would not leave
Now I feel that it will only take one bad day before she tells me to go
When did she stop loving me?
I used to give her unconditional love and it confused her
Now she gives me unconditional hate and it confuses me
When did she stop loving me?
She used to have days where she smiled at me
Now there are days where she cusses me
When did she stop loving me?
I’ve written her lovely poems before
But now I’ve written this one
When did she stop loving me?