Brothers and sisters of ink and blood.
Storytellers, poets, connoisseurs of love.
The downhearted, broken. Betrothed and betrayed.
Lend me your ear, your heart, and your page.

My quill has run dry, but yours still runs free.
My imagination is dim, though you still believe.
I said hello, poetry. Goodbye tainted thoughts.
But it takes more than words to break such locks.

So, write me a sonnet, haiku, or a ballad.
A lymeric, lyric, even elegies are valid.
Deliver your song of keyboard clicks,
Tell of your lover, your pain, politics.

Grant me this wish,
Fulfill this desire.
I am freezing cold,
and your words are on fire.

I wish we could fly
High on sky
Hope you don't deny
I'll always wait for your reply

Could you stay along till we die
If not, may I ask you why
Please don't lie
And make me cry

what drives me crazy
is how people interact.

we all listen to reply,
not to understand.

we listen to share our
experiences instead of
just being there for that person.

next time you interact
with someone,
try to really listen.

I've been wishing for you,
wishing on you;
Is this the reason why
my dreams don't come true
because they don't need to?
When you're here
dancing as the pale moonlight
across my shadowed skin;
it's only in the dark
when I can let you in,
and we can see each other
best and in our brightest.
So paint yourself on the canvas of my thoughts;
allow me to be the blank pages you need.
I'll empty myself for you to fill me whole
with this dance of the thirteenth month—
a tribute birthed out of this tune.
When it ends I'll never move again
the same way I did before:
because now you are the echoing pulse of my bloodstream,
and I'm completely anew like the full moon.

Why do we c o m m u n i c a t e
           to simply just
                       r  e  p  l  y?

And not
           u n d e r s t a n d
                             the meaning behind the words she cries

If there were no edge,
Would you follow me in-
To oblivion?