i am not a poet,

nor am i a poem.

i am not a writer,

nor a book.

i am not a painter,

nor a painting.

i am not a sculptor,

nor a sculpture,

i  am not the artist,

nor the muse.

i am an idea,

that exists

only

in your imagination

Dear Shane, you will get well.
You have a long battle ahead.
Fight it with all your might.
Don't give up.

Look straight into the eye of death.
Tell it to go back.

Ask death to come -

when you are 100 years old,
when all your hair turns silver,
and all your teeth fall off.

That is when you will meet death, smiling.

I go to you in my quiet time
When I settle my mind
I go to you frantically
I have been known to plead
I go to you to feel refreshed
I go to you to bleed
I go to you
To bring myself
Do you even want to see?

you spoke of dreams,
moments not here,
but lingering just beyond reach.
i see you too—in flashes,
a laugh, a name i never fully said.

i close my eyes,
and there you are,
in the tremble of stars,
the flicker of streetlights,
the hum of midnight waves.

you linger like a soft melody,
always near,
but never enough.
a secret i kept in silence,
carried with every breath.

I know what we have isn't gone

Because if it was

It would have stopped hurting

Never before have I read so many beautiful poems here at “ hello poetry “.
So much young talent.
Keep on writing and sharing poets.
It really is a joy reading your work.



Shell✨🐚

As I stand beneath,
sky's embrace,
open arms,
claim me as its own.

each drop,
cold,
yet warmth blossom in me.

each raindrop,
feels as a caress,
a lover's kiss,
as it drenchs my soul.

I'm on my third jar
and I never drink
more than two
but now this pistol
looks lovingly at me
more than you do.