Is,

unconditionally,

wholly, and

completely,

letting

the

other

person

walk

in

front

of

you, with patience and understanding;

because, true love is,

sacrificing everything

without limits, or reservations,

and then repeating love

everyday all over again.

My heart is missing

from my ribcage

it was stolen

a long time ago

It stopped beating

when her smile

failed to glow

She’s long gone now

I don’t believe

she cares anymore

Might she notice my existence

if I stood by her front door?

Our love is history

now I sleep alone

on an empty bed

Yet, the one who stole

my heart, is dancing

in the skull of my head

I have yearned many things

if I must confess

Yet, my only covet

is seeing

the fiery eyes of

that estranged poetess

She is one of a kind

made from the atoms of my bones

She’d be forever

a mark in my heart

that stands

like graveyard stones

Many are afraid to die

but for her I would

die a thousand times,

to make her my wife

Maybe in death

she and I

could be besieged

by the same life

MidnightInk (6/19/2018)

Words have soul

To live or die

They can break you down

Or give you wings to fly

MidnightInk (10/22/2018)

Birds sing at dawn

melodies of soothing peace

The harmony of their music

can put any mind at ease

The cascading vibration

is like a woman’s tease

It can rejuvenate a parched soul

with her gravitational release

The looping symphony starts

with a slow morning kiss

A nature’s beauty gets renewed

as she’s always fain to appease

My mind is fully awakened

to breathe this intoxicating bliss

This would be the only feeling

forever I long to seize

MidnightInker (11/15/2019)

She is crying rivers, but

there’s no solace for her pain, 

for her heart got shattered into pieces, 

to a degree beyond repair. 

Each memory she felt, 

was reflections of her scars—

which makes her cry even more, 

for she is a bird, with broken wings, 

that cannot fly, through the open door. 

She smiles for a moment, then 

her grin fades away, 

so she puts off everything 

to cry another day. 

She looks in the mirror 

and sees her other self-image, 

and says nothing’s left for me, 

beyond the next page; 

as she walked away with despair,

to her last tipping edge,

then she stopped, and wiped her tears

to never again, fall off the ledge.

So, she composed the broken pieces

and threw out the crashing pains and fears

she decided to find her youthful age,

when she dried, her last drop of rainfall tears.

Pull me closer like gravity

Let me rest my head on your chest.

So you can run your gentle fingers

through my hair, to calm down my anxiety.

It’s peaceful, when the wind whistles

And sends me to a dreamland, so deep.

When you sing me a lullaby song

I quickly fall asleep.

Your eyes are magnetic

Filled with such intensity.

You’re so seductive 

to levitate me with immense velocity.

So invite me in, under your bare skin—

Let me explore your vehement feelings raging within;

I long of being behind your golden gate—

Yet inside your inner-core,

And journey down to that special hot-place, 

where nobody has ever discovered before.

I know this gentle pen well.

It was full of life,

painting vibrant hues.

But now, it’s completely

crestfallen and arid,

and refused shedding

a drop of tear

from this broken heart

I’m holding close.

It’s almost dawn,

and I’m still sitting

by the window,

gazing outside,

eyes fully fixated

on that lonely

one-way road

home;

I must’ve sat here all night long,

waiting for you

yet, you’re nowhere insight.

On this lonely one-way road,

I see not footprints,

not even the one

you’ve imprinted, when you left.

My mind is left in plight.

This is totally absurd though,

having no inks to spill

when I’m aching

to tell you

how I’m feeling

inside.

As a poet, shouldn’t this be easy,

dancing with words or metaphors?

Am I a poet?

I feel guilty for calling myself one,

for I used to know this tender

crying ballpoint,

but not this lonely,

obsessed man, who’s studying

the naked blank pages

alone.

I never met

this broken man, who’s still

looking out the window,

and waiting for you

to walk home again,

on that long, lonely

one-way road.

Maybe now is the time

To dry my eyes and stop to cry

And forever say goodbye.

MidnightInk (10/14/2018)

Pains, unspoken

tattooed

dark scars

buried beneath

running through

your cellular veins

have no mercy

till their ignited,

burning flames

strung and choke

your life out of you,

if you just scratch

the wounds

on the surface

Fear, hidden

deep within

sleeping like a baby

but boils unrest

under the skin

suddenly explodes

unless

therapy intervenes

Therapy, medicinal

a healthy way to live

with full

reconciliations,

without resentment

therapeutic candle light

otherwise,

destruction is

all you’d achieve

MidnightInk (10/4/2018)

Once up on a time,

I was a Man of pristine morals.

Even though I wouldn’t say

I am holding that prestige today,

I was a Man of pristine morals!

Once up on a time!

I cannot recall the day

I crossed the grey line, and

ended up

where I’m standing today.

But, once upon on a time,

I was a Man of pristine morals—

Pristine, like the clear blue sky.

Now, I no longer obviate my mind

from taking its own flight,

down a dangerous and spiral road.

But, once upon on a time,

I was a Man of pristine morals,

pristine, like a child’s eyes.

.................................................

MidnightInk (7/14/2018)