When you can communicate
With only "that look"
Something must be going right

When conversations can start with rants
And end with adventures
Something must be going right

When you can't remember
A time when you weren't friends
Something must be going right

When texts are serious
And nonsense all in one
Something must be going right

When the future is vast and scary
But you promise to never drift
Something must be going right

And that's what a best friend is for

Life provides the contours.
Poets provide the shading and colors.

r ~ 23Mar14

Sleeping keeps the headaches that creep back without a peep.
Consciousness more or less leaves me torn and hopeless.
Sometimes i sit in the cool dark, sometimes the hot.
Sometimes i speak to nobody and occasionally,
I get the privilege of listening.

I am a woman, firm and strong.
A woman that will not stand for what is wrong.
I am a woman who will fight for what is right.
A woman in darkness who will shine like a light.
I am a woman who strives to do the best.
A woman who perseveres and will not rest.

I am a woman who cares for what is small.
A woman who is unique and special to all.
I am a woman filled with love.
A woman who aims to soar like a dove.
I am a woman, strike a rock, if you strike me.
A woman, yes.
A woman is who I love to be.

Her colors I start to blend, painting a woman's masterpiece
Her heart pumps honesty, while her soul condones peace.
A couple more paint strokes to form her ambitious eyes
To create her sincere integrity, to mold her intelligent mind
Sculpting her genuine smile,
adding detail to an aura so kind.

Women, are a beautiful master piece
That can't be rushed, it must be worked on over time.
*& when I get one... I will paint her forever. I will never stop helping her create her design, I will mix her love with my passion...I will make this precious masterpiece truly mine.

The pages were ripped, the pages were spread,
what in the world could have, ferociously, lead
this young man to snapping?
And black as these pages must have been his heart,

and torn like these pages, his love fell apart.
She saw it coming, knowing he'd crack,
stood there, did nothing, or cut him no slack,
closing herself when he opened up, she

was the case and he was the book, and
mad as a crook, he grabbed his last chance,
did not kiss the cook, killed her instead,
for boiling his rage as furiousness rose

he gave it a shot and tried to propose,
love me or die, so I can be free.

To earth she had fallen, no more than a second,
later, he followed, down on one knee, he tried to kneel,
for his love was too strong, it ate him alive,
perfectly prepared, his favourite meal,
scorched ribs, spare'd.

The menu was wrong.