poems

Maybe one day we__l find that place, where you and I could be together and we__l catch our dreams within the waves of change. So hear me, you are not alone.

Every broken piece of me fell on every broken piece of you and when I took the missing parts, like the emptiness of me I saw the emptiness of you and I poured my half upon you to fill you whole. I risked it all just to dream you complete and catch you one day free in the wild.

The fear of loving a dog, is knowing one day they__l be gone and you could never find eyes that express all that you feel.

Maybe all that we are is what people expect us to be.

Sometimes those we love break us to bind us whole within the transition.

That night I didn__ say anything. I just watched you leave and in the end, I just stayed sleeping awake. Somewhere between a sweet dream and a beautiful nightmare, hoping one day you__ return to rid me of the demons you left behind.

technology murdered childhood.

She had more of me then I had of myself. We were both wild birds chasing the stars. We__ lose our way and find new places, close our eyes and fall back towards a constellation of dreams. We wrapped ourselves in a blanket of passion and each night we fell deeper without control, into this strange space called love.

The more I learned the less I felt I knew you and I got lost counting stars, I fell dreaming. Sometimes I__ wander away. Maybe I wasn__ ready or maybe it was just a hard time to love. You always reminded me of home and I could never fathom the reasoning behind your smile. Perhaps one day, if we believe enough, we__l find our way.

Ill love you with every little bit of everything that has ever consumed me and I will forever love you and forever find you in every life time and so on. Until the stars die out and the universe leaps but even then, my love will remain.

Use love as the only instrument to question the world around you.

Some people make you want to be a better person, and that, for me, is the purest form of love.

And now, for something completely the same:Wasted time and wasted breath,'s what I'll make, until my death.Helping people 'd be as good,but I wouldn't, if I could.For the few that help deserve,have no need, or not the nerve,help from strangers to accept,plus from mine a few have wept.Wept from joy, or from despair,or just from my vengeful stare.Ways I have, to look at stupid,make them see I am not Cupid.Make them see they are in error,for of truth I am a bearer.Most decide I'm just a bear,mauling at them, - like I care.

I left the bankbecause they wouldn__ deposit my cheque of poems.So I went to the store,but they didn__ acceptmy currency of words.So I boxed all my storiesand took them to charity.But they refused my donation and asked me to give blood instead.I opened the notebooks and made them look, 'What do you think I wrote these in?

I see that you are heartlessly clever.For you know how to Love,but not Forever. You still return to me in flashes,so strong it clouds my Mind.The fire has turned to ashes,and yet, you__e not behind.

I finally wentwhere everyone goesand I realizedI wasnevermissingout.

Versifying left her cold. Poems were too close to prayer, rousing regrettable passions. Waiting for God to rescue you when it was up to you. Poetry and prayer put ideas in people's heads that got them killed, distracting them from the ruthless mechanism of the world.

In your hands I am no longer a pile of bones left behind to a world that moved on.