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 Apr 2015 Atta
Jessica Belle
one life on Earth,
collapsing inwards.
The people gasp,
faces turned towards
the sun
and
promise,
"I won't let it happen."

(a promise that has been broken many times before)
 Apr 2015 Atta
Camille Alipio
Love starts.
Love grows.
Love lies.
Love hurts.
Love ends.
Love *****.
Love comes...again.
Love lasts.
Love exists.

Love starts with the eyes,
Eventually a hi or hello will come next.
A small talk will happen,
Then friendship comes along.

Love grows from that friendship--
Courtship & dating will happen;
Then you started trusting,
Eventually you fall for a kiss.

Love lies from words & actions,
Secrets are revealed,
Then trust was destroyed;
There's no more turning back.

Love hurts like truth hurts,
Tears may fall
Or maybe not at all,
So you just end curling up like a ball.

Love ends like life does end,
But would that be all?
Would there be any love left
Or just nothing at all?

Love ***** like a gazillion bucks.
As pain deepens, bitterness grows,
And so does fear comes along with it
Hence, no more chances to love again.

Love comes...again
In the right time and place
With the right person
For the right reasons.

Love lasts...forever.
Taking chances is not bad at all
'Coz from those heartaches
You've just become stronger.

Love exists...it really exists
Just like God exists.
So let's all believe,
To live, laugh, & love!

Love starts.
Love grows.
Love lies.
Love hurts.
Love ends.
Love *****.
Love comes...again.
Love lasts.
Love exists.
 Apr 2015 Atta
Aeya Jean Johnson
Sky
 Apr 2015 Atta
Aeya Jean Johnson
Sky
He told her he was the sky,
That he owned the stars,
And the sun, his eye.
She laughed,
Smiling at his ocean eyes,
And knew that he was truthful.

Now she looks up and sees the face
Of the one she first loved.
He’s no musician.
He doesn't make melodies through violin and guitar strings.
Yet he composed, haunting ballads in dramatic tempos,
Rhyming every lyric,
Harmonizing, making it dance in a musical euphony.

He’s no seamster.
Yet he cuts and he traces,
plain words and printed phrases;
Then he sews and he weaves it skilfully,
into a lovely concrete poetry.

He’s no painter.
He just has a palette of pigmented letters,
splashing colorful lines on his blank canvass.
A blast of contained evocative memories,
Streaking and shading mixtures of kaleidoscopic imagery.

He’s no storyteller.
Yet from him, I heard the most romantic tales-
One, of the moon and its lover sea.
Reciprocating shy glances, whispering I love you’s,
while kissing behind the sprawling mountains.
Though the dawn will come, they do not fear.
For after the majestic tribal sun leaves his stage,
There’ll the lovers be once again reunited.

He's no poet.**
Yet he writes--
stanzas and verses.
And oh! it revives,
every strand of emotion,
every sense of intuition,
Inside me.
A lyrical perception,
Sheer perfection,
Arousing perpetual reactions,
From me.
I am not good at this. I just want to express my pure gratitude, appreciation and awe for you.

"I am no poet. Never thought of myself as one. Just a guy dabbling clumsily in words"
Yet even, everything you do amaze me.


Thank you all wonderful people on Hello Poetry. I just realized this moment that this poem was featured as Daily poem yesterday.  I have never imagined any of my work will be posted as daily. Thank you all for the hearts, re-post,share, comments and messages. You really made my heart and soul so happy. :)
And most of all, thanks to the man who inspire me to write this one. :)
(04.14.2015)
 Apr 2015 Atta
Jonny Angel
Pictures of dead people I know
are smiling and are so full of life
hanging on my wall
reminding me
to seize this day,
because it's not cliche,
and it won't come again.
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