Wednesday, April 22, 2009

I can smile though you hurt me
I won't cry if you desert me
I can be just your friend
There's nothing in me to mend

I don't miss you like before
I don't need you anymore
You aren't my life blood
And it feels so good

It's OK when we fight
I don't stay up at night
Wondering if it was my fault
Or if i should have called

You're not the sun
I revolve around
You're not the one
To whom I'm bound
You were everything once
But an end always comes

I don't miss you like before
I don't need you anymore
You aren't my life blood
And it feels so good

oh honey, no offense, it feels good.

Thursday, April 09, 2009

Wishes

Let us marry on a beach
With white rosed garlands
Let our parents bless us
With all their hearts
Let our footprints on the sand
Never erase from memory
No matter that they were
Erased by the sea

Let us spend those first years
Like new lovers
Discovering each others'
Bodies, minds, souls
Let the passion never die
Despite the years that pass
Let our hands always hold
To comfort each other

Let our every thought, word and action
Be infused with gentleness
Let we never lie or betray
And if we ever do
Let us forgive in time
If ever there is a doubt of fading love
Let it dissolve at once
When we are in each others' arms

Let the harsh words that we speak
Be drowned by the laughter
Of our children
Let them reflect our childhood
And remind us to be carefree

Let us never be too busy
To say, "I love you"
Let our arguments be peaceful
I hope work never forces us
To neglect our family
Or to neglect our love






I wrote this one night when I couldn't get sleep. These wishes are things that i know will never really come true, little girls like to wish upon stars. I just wanted to write down my insane hopes. I don't know if it classifies as poetry, but it is the song of my heart and I hope that counts.


Poetry

when language like bubbling streams flow




when words are laid down to fit like lovers' hands




when you feel the essence of the poet from within




when swirling thoughts are caught in the net of rhythm



when images reel as you read




when pen and paper create a symphony




then, it is poetry