truth of poetry


November 2013

Its cold out here

Its cold out here

The birds I cant hear

in the morning of dew has now become in the morning of icicles

Jack frost hasn’t just woking up, No he’s running rampid and chaotic

No sun , moon, nor wind will help cease his artful fingers

Its cold out here

But there’s a smell that refreshes the mind

Awakes the body not in the same tenderness as summer but with a pure potion on the edge of dawn

Winter shall we find it? Like a embrace of lovers

Its cold out here

Yet the dead trees still seem alive

the rivers are still flowing towards the shores and just maybe you can see what beauty lies beneath

Its cold out here, its cold out here

So stop to hear winters lustful sneer

Its cold out here


This is what you longed for!!

Walking down the street

 Lite by only a few street lamps but feeling like your shadow is the only one to understand

 As you walk to the station ending a run of such importance with elaborate meaning

The cynic in you says “This was a waste.

The optimist screams “This is what you longed for.

To the people that surrounded you all you can say is “Thank you my friends.”

Never to forget what you found out and learned the truth that laid in your soul

Remembering that after the thunder rolls

 The lighting crashes and the next morning is a site of calm beauty

 Like when you saw yourself in the mirror for the first time after she said “I love you!

The past flashed away, The present embraced by others, As your future watch’s from a distance

This is what you longed for!

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