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lost things, soft things, things that ache

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To you

Wipe my tears and wipe yours too Gift me your heart, mine and yours to renew At the end, when I'm here no more, Thank you for reading by my grave's floor

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To those like me

Read poetry and weep amidst dreams Paint love and weep again, it seems And who am I, I ask of me, Poet, dreamer, or perhaps a phantom king be? Offer a bouquet of crimson rose, Then drown amid my tempest's throes And who are you, I ask of thee, Just a human being - that's who I see

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To the lonely

For souls like yours, no fires stay lit The world forgets, then learns to omit So still, so vacant, the soil won't yield No bloom breaks through that frozen field How yearn ye for a thing, Ye never did possess or bring? So how can ye pine, For warmth of another's shine? Close yer eyes, the time is nigh The cocoon of solitude hath spat its dye

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To the forgotten

Sometimes, it's easier to let go Of all that's bad, of all we know Sometimes, it's simpler, you see, To forget the good, set memories free But the worst fate one can bear Is to be forgotten, lost in the air Unremembered in life's fleeting day Who'll recall you once you've passed away? Millions of forgotten graves, adorned with blooms, Hidden 'neath withered leaves, their tombs Perhaps the end of another forgotten fall How many more autumns for you to call?

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To the weary

From dreams unwelcome, you arise, Thorned crowns worn, facing life's ties Through pain and worries, you stride, Hoping for respite, a brief confide Naively, you thought this day might bring A moment's respite, a fleeting wing Yet, how did this day differ at its core? Seeking to reclaim, but unsure what for Yearning to regain what slipped away Yet, if nothing's had, how can one repay?

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