Loverhusband

I'd wish upon a wishing star tonight If by some chance my heart would be alright But in that heart I know it's not the truth I think I've known it since I was a youth No Aphrodite and no Venus too No love for me from heaven or from you I wax and wane, I'm restless like the sea My lighthouse waits for love to come find me On Noah's ark the beasts lined two and two While in my life I'm single through and through So if you see a wishing star tonight Please tell it not to waste its amber light Instead I'll wish upon the wise old moon "Please end my lonely days and do it soon"

Mark stretched as he got out of his warm, comfy bed.  He walked over to his window and opened it, really taking in the morning scene. He gazed upon the already busy street bursting with life everywhere he looked. The birds seemed more colourful than he had remembered, and the scent of freshly cut grass filled his nostrils as he took in a deep breath, thinking that Parish Drive had never smelled so sweet before. This day was not going to be wasted. Mark had already decided that a long time ago. Today was going to be a special day. Mark bounded down the stairs and into the kitchen, embracing his mom with a tender hug for a quick moment before

Little Black Rain Cloud The forecast for my soul appeared today. Blackness, darkness, doom and dismay. The same as yesterday, and the day before that. Rain's coming as well, better put on a hat. One drop falls, a single tear. Two drops fall, the end is near. Three drops fall, I sense some more. Four drops fall, It's going to pour. Five drops fall, the cheek is damp. Six drops fall, like a cold, wet stamp. Seven drops fall, they leave behind trails. Eight drops fall, they crawl slow as snails. Nine drops fall, yet nothing they mend. Ten drops fall, I can't see the end. I look up at the sky and the sun beams back down, So why do

If These Walls If these walls could see, They'd shed paper like tear. Within their gaze, primarily fear. If these walls could hear, They would block out all sound. The screams and shouts echo around. If these walls could talk, They would sing a sad song. To mourn the loss of torment, lifelong . But these walls can't see, can't hear, can't talk. The best they can do is to be, or to block. Four walls together, united in form, To shelter a boy who's not of the norm. They feel his soul ache, they call him their own. So four become five, he is not alone.

A Single Word Good. Four letters. Ink on a page. Echoes in a voice. Good. Not bad. It is desired. More than just 'ok'. The power in one word. The beauty in four letters.

Depression Crying. More crying Tear stained face Even more crying yet Rage fills the dried tears Screaming. More screaming Throbbing dry throat Even more screaming yet Wet soothes the painful throb Crying. More crying Water flows free Even more crying yet Everything is damp, dark, dead. Silence. Blank. Empty. Nothing. Void.

White Walls How can I tell I am alive? Is it in the keys my fingers press? Is it in the fabric my feet caress? Is it in the beat my heart drums? Is it in the echo my voice hums? How can I tell I am not dead? Do others hear me as I rasp? Do others feel me as I grasp? The sounds project in these white halls. White jackets, White doors, White walls. Screaming from left. Crying from right. The full moon roars in day and in night Walk farther yet, the white subdued. The screaming silent, sound can elude. White still remains, though none can hear. The white eyes stare at white with fear. How can you tell you are alive?

The Writer's Plea I want to write deep as the ocean floor I want to write vast as the desert sand I want to write smooth as the clam's pearl I want to write strong as the mountain rock I want to write powerful as the erupting volcano I want to write beautiful as the crystal lake I want to write grand as the earth itself Instead I write shallow as the kiddie pool Instead I write little as the sandbox Instead I write rough as the broken glass Instead I write weak as the blackboard chalk Instead I write frail as the carbonated soda Instead I write ugly as the city sewer Instead I write meagre as the man himself

Beauty Am I beautiful? When you pass me, do you turn? When you see me, do you yearn? I wrote you a poem from inside my heart. I sent it at night so we were apart. Without a name. Without a face. You read it and cried, tears filled empty space. My poem was nameless; only bank space above. You named it 'beauty' and fell deep in love With one breath you read, tales of my beauty. With one breath you gossip, tales of my body. Your love for my pen is a deep blue sea, But your love for me is a dead marquee. I've been split in half; divided in two. Both pieces are me, only one finds you. When you pass me, you run quick. When you see