Pitter! Patter! The sound of the teardrops;
pleading that the harsh tear stops.
She ripped it in two and a half...
million different pieces and parts.

The balloon like an orb as the sun shines,
connected by a string tied to my wrist,
severed by a calm tug.
The balloon drifted with the winds,
floated into the air; and with it...
came a realisation that I am no longer a child.

I am no longer a child...
She ripped it in two and a half...
million different pieces and parts
But there was no Pitter! There was no patter!
There was no sound of teardrops
and sometimes I wished I could learn to cry again.


___

I had let go of a balloon
And picked up a pen.

You and I have shared words, shown the darkness, the light
and glimpses of bright coloured sky where the truth floats freely.
Though you can not see me, I have felt glimpses of your strength,
the length we've known each other has honestly been short
but thoughts to words, I have come to understand and learnt
that though the sun has burnt, there are moments where that star
wears a seared scar like any other thing that exists within this world.
The waves curl between the shores and the vast amount of water
and like an author you find ways to find words that fit perfectly.
There is certainty in my tone when I say that you will come to find
the gems and stones that blind those who chooses to wear a mask
like a buried flask filled with honesty and pure emotion.

I have been grateful in so many ways for your constant encouragement,
the words you flourish embeds itself into my mind as a constant reminder
to never give up writing like a spider that never gives up designing webs.
I've leapt in joy on numerous occasions to discover new poems of yours
and to learn behind closed doors what an amazing character you possess
only attests to how well you write. You've written diamonds in every line
like a diamond mine but with words.

It's a new year, happy new year.
The introduction of your story is up to how you choose to write it,
you're the writer, the painter, the artist behind the pathways you choose.
I encourage you to keep on writing, to never give up and to stay strong;
it's been a long journey and yet there is so much left unseen.
I've only been your friend for a short while, but I thank you for every moment.

Show me a field that is filled with golden flowers
hours upon hours the smell of the grass elevates the scents
that seems to send passerbys into an overdrive of envy.
Lend me your hand so that my coarse skin is softened by yours,
the door to my heart is forever open awaiting your entrance
and the defences are fending off other fiends so don't worry about guard
because as hard as it is to trust, I've let my guards down a long time ago.
Show me that you can be the green to my gold
let us grow old but never grow up as we play like kids
let the bliss fill both our hearts as we unite together against the world.
Girl, will you find it in yourself to love me? ...as much as I love you?

You make me shine on outside
Yet inside I still
Feel yucky

on poetry*

A poem is only a mouthful of air
until it is read.
Imagine it. Craft it carefully
from your heart's flesh.
Seal it in a bottle
of clear, pure words.
Set it adrift on
the ocean of time,
life's restless surge,
until a few congruous spirits
pluck it from the sea-wrack
and recognize a message
that illuminates their souls.
Readers find writers;
never the opposite.

on poetry*

A poem is only a mouthful of air
until it is read.
Imagine it. Craft it carefully
from your heart's flesh.
Seal it in a bottle
of clear, pure words.
Set it adrift on
the ocean of time,
life's restless surge,
until a few congruous spirits
pluck it from the sea-wrack
and recognize a message
that illuminates their souls.
Readers find writers;
never the opposite.