poems-on-life

I lovehow grown childrenwill still nametheir mothersthe mostbeautiful.It isas though,their eyeshave met the cascadingcurvesand goldensilhouettesof every woman.Yettheir soulsstilldrumto the beat_ of theirmother'swarmth and care.

She wasn__ broken.She was made up of a thousand tiny little cracks.She was always trying to keep herself glued together.But it was hard, she felt too much.No matter what she did, her emotions seeped through,sometimes in drips, other times in floods,She felt everything,the heaviness of the clouds right before rain,the rush of the subway cars as they left the station,the feeling of goodbye as she watched someone walk away,wondering if it was the last time she would see them,the feeling of a kiss lingering on her cheek for hours.She felt the loneliness of the sun as it hung in the sky,shedding light on the day,without companion.And she longed to give as much as the sun.If she could brighten someone__ day,bestow warmth were there was cold,make someone smile, give someone hope,then for a minute, an hour, maybe even a day,the cracks would fill with loveand the pain would become only a voice,reminding her that her pain was important.She knew how fragile life was, how hard,and how precious.She wanted to feel it all.

There lived a poet in the lands of gold,Wrote along poems unaffected by warmth or cold,His words spoke truth and pen's stroke was bold,His only motive: lives to mould

The day arrived,when myriad teary rivers flow and the muted wind faintly died in his tears__n altar for the beloved one's departure,for sister-hood is no more,for her to adore!while pangs the beating world in a lamenting voice;their remembering loss of the 'one' they embrace most and when the crepuscule came like a phantom,the mournful,gathered birds swiftly flew in gloom.

I painted for the eyes, and wrote prose for the ears_ Between those senses lay the mind and soul_ I enjoyed connecting with people__ deepest thoughts, their hopes and dreams_ My pen and brush were tools to achieve my artistic desired effects.

Just knowing that you are there and you would be thinking about me while I am thinking about you makes my heart feel serene and contented.

Cold feet under a warm blanket, steam over an empty mug--rain splatters on dry window pane--open journals of closed memories... tears of laughter and joy of pain... schmaltz of diametric morning.

Faith helps you to over come all the troubles,If you faith, troubles will blow out like bubbles.So let faith become your strength,As faith will help you to walk the length.

Bridge burned from end to end,and I don't miss you anymore.You delivered silenceI've birthed freedom.

Birthing hope from the madnessthat perches on the fenceof our once perfectdreams.

Steep fall to the groundshatteringlike clay pigeons missed by bad shotsand unsteady hands.

You are the poemthat sticks in my throatteaching me to whisperwith the voice of my heart.

Through windows,in wishing wells,whispering in the wind...that's where I find you.

I build boxesand place them at your feet,to measure the distance between dreams and reality.

I die a little,In the echo of your silence.

I was just an option.Blown easily to piecesand offered to the skyby the sweet laced painupon your lips.

In that wounded place,buried betweenmy ribs and letting go,I miss you.

I can't love anymore.Except for you...I love you so much it hurts to breathe.