Remember how you held my hand tight
On the very first day of school
They told you not to sit with me
Together we broke all the rules
I could feel your eyes upon me
Like you'd stare at me for hours
I'd pretend i didn't notice
draw you lovehearts laced with flowers
And when the bell went
you dashed across to me
This thig between us
this school could never teach us
Plan our wedding, name out children put the world to rights for hours
Walk home through back fields, bend right down and pick you flowers

I pulled the hair back, that covered your blue eyes
Smelt your breath upon me as you leaned in and sighed


What about when they told us you were to go away
Don't worry they told us, she'll be home on saturdays
Catholic school across the city
You beg my parents "can he please come with me"
Without you seconds seem like hours
In your room a library of pressed flowers
When the bell went every friday
You stare from the window
i'm waiting at the gate
In my hand a single flower, a bright red rose just for you
Place a kiss upon your cheek
Walk you home from school

Then the priest saw us, marching hand in hand
Kisses and red rosed, those unholy things are banned
But together we still planned our wedding day
Storm clouds fist, then came the rain
Age caught us up way too soon
Before we knew, again you were on the move
Here and there, everywhere
Straight from school, a different city, university .... and then there was me
Am i such a fool ?

I found myself a job selling flowers on a stall
Tuesdsy evenings put by just to take your call
Laughter in the background distance
"Will you still marry me?" I whisper
"I met this guy and then i kissed him"
Those were the final words you said
Now i sell flowers to young lovers who pass by
Now i sell flowers from a husband to give to his wife
I sit at my stall forever
Your forever on my mind
Open up the local paper, a photo of a brand new man and wife
Recognise your face, bowed my head and cried
Pulled some roses from the bucket
Made the most beautiful boquet and i took it
Laid it at your doorstep
Left a note with it that said

You gave your heart to me, i never gave it back
You've nothing to give this man, that is just a fact
Your passion is my comfort that just keeps me going
If you need me, i sit around for hours
Selling lovers pretty flowers
Still calve our initials inside the wood during all of my spare hours
Draw you love hearts every day wrapped in kisses and pretty flowers

Poets are just artists
with so much to say,
we are quite happy
to spend hours writing
throughout our days.

Emotion is our fuel for thought,
along with love and hate,
our distant memories
and ideas are scribbled down,
as they wait to be woven into beautiful words to which we will invigorate.

To carefully plan and create
something new,
from something old
and make something meaningful
from the words that we mold.

Broken at times we may also be
and taking the time to write
gives a much needed release.
Being healed by using words
brings a feeling so new and complete.

But, sometimes,
I want to be feel broken
so I may rekindle
lost feelings that hurt me,
reminisce about lost romance,
to mend my shattered heart
and relive the pain
that once tore me apart.

This page is my canvas,
the words are my picture to paint
a view within your mind.
I can cause you to sink into my scene,
as I tell you a story about where I have been.

To tell you how joy filled my heart
when he came into my life,
and how everything was wonderful
and being by his side felt so right.
Remembering how the leaves
on the trees were green that day
and how beautiful the sky is blue
How the stars shimmer
in the clear night sky
and how the sunset kisses the land
each day anew.

But, how many times
did he break my heart
and heal it time and time again?
and then I’ll show you how
I eventually turned everything around
and then gave my life it's dues.

You see, we poets are just like artists
our passion is just with words,
I would write and use my blood
to paint the sunsets
and draw lovehearts if I could.

I would carve and create
masterpieces with the hurt
that was left behind
Just to bring life to a poem or story
being written within my lifetime.

Lizzie Bevis