As I set out to write
Slicing pieces of life
Little by little letting go

The use of my pen
Is like chisel in hand
Chipping away at my soul

I hold a sculpture knife
In which to carve out my life
Leaving my heart well exposed

The art of poetry
Is pure beauty to me
Of which this artist has no control

I paint what comes to my mind
Straying outside of the lines
It's the only kind of poetry I know

i still find it strange
(like most others) that
someone so fam
                                         iliar can
suddenly, without much thou   ght
become entirely foreign within an
hour          or
two and then as a couple weeks
go by there is nothing more than
footprints where we used to
                      stand  

side     by     side
and then not
even  
       that

building a bridge is hard
when their loving words
never left your heart

crying is easier
it helps you recover
slowly but surely
you'll build that bridge
and finally walk over
as you say your goodbyes

time does not heal you
it just shows you how to cope
with all the emotions
that were built up
inside your aching heart

love knows no limits
which is deadly
but one day
you'll be cherished
and loved ever so truly

it seems hopeless now
but someday
it will make sense
somehow

seems like
you hit a rough patch
in this ***** of a life
but one day
you will smile
and feel absolutely alive
you will feel true love
you will feel true bliss
you will feel so much
you'll feel happiness

it will take time
to find you
but when you do
keep in mind
who you used to be
as an opportunity
to be greater
and higher above
when you find
that hope
you so desperately seek