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 Jan 2018 Drew Blanton
atlast
My mother is a piano
A little out of tune
Dusty keys
That play with ease
Ivory as the moon

Sometimes I’ll touch the wood
And admire its antiquity
Think of all the things that it
Ever dreamed to be

Sometimes when my fingers
Fly through a song
I wonder how this piano
Ever got so strong.

My mother is a piano,
She makes music out of air,
She answers each finger
With an embrace, with care

Her legs planted firmly
in the ground
How much I love to hear
her deep, rich sound.
____________________­____________________­____________________­____________________­____________________­____________________­____________________­____________________­____________________­____________________­____________________­____________________­______________
Finally. I'd been striving for a one word poem. After achieving it, I wanted a no word poem. Here it is. I guess this is no longer mine, but ours.

"The Invisible Poem" was selected as the Daily.
I'm humbled... to say nothing.
But I believe a response is necessary.
To all those who liked, loved and commented, I say thank you. I've read all you've written, and most of it is very creative and complimentary.
There are others, detractors, who claim "*******," etc.
Well of course, this only begs the question, "What is poetry?"
I can't answer that. I've written on it. But what I do know is what poetry should do. Its purpose.
If a poem should arouse emotions, bad or good, make people think, have people want to write, to express themselves (and I believe I'm on the mark here), then, anything can be a poem. Even a page with lines on it.
Thanks again to all the readers.
And if you're still *******, don't attack me... go after Elliot. :)
 Jan 2018 Drew Blanton
bones
13w.
 Jan 2018 Drew Blanton
bones
Am I really a poet,
If all I ever write about,
Is you?
Feeling insecure today.
 Jan 2018 Drew Blanton
Gelz
Baby if you call me at 4 am,
Too sad to even say hello,
I will listen to your sadness,
Until you fall asleep.
I love her.
No not ******* worldly,
But softly, purely , celestially.
Obsessively?
Not necessarily, just completely,
selfishly and I'm sorry.
I love her unconditionally, some say unconventionally.
But they don't understand me.
Yes...I love her.
Most spiritually, asexually, platonically and wholly.
I love her, truly, honestly, musically and poetically...
She doesn't have to love me.
Your looks may fade... my love shall not.
 Dec 2017 Drew Blanton
Mims
Impact
 Dec 2017 Drew Blanton
Mims
I knew you

and you knew me

Our messages told stories

of us taking over the galaxy
Diary #1
 Dec 2017 Drew Blanton
Q
So this journey has come to an end
Whether you don’t know me at all
Or think of me as your best friend
This is my goodbye, my final call.

Thank you for the adventure; thank you for your time. I have nothing left to give, no words left to rhyme. This is my last, I’ll leave with a whisper. This is all I have, what I began writing for.

Should you ever neeed a shoulder, please find me. No matter where I go in life, where you need me is where I’ll be. Hold me tightly in your thoughts and I will hold you in my heart.

Merry meet, dear rhymers, and merry part.
This is the last of my poetry. Thank you for sticking it out with me for the past four years. I've decided to focus on other goals I have since my life is essentially falling apart. Poetry was an outlet for me, but it more feels like another way to indulge my burgeoning escapism.

So, I've decided to take away the place I escape to so I can relearn how to face problems head on. I've got a lot of self-adjustments to make in the near future and this is just one of them.

Of course, if I am contacted on HP, I'll come flying back to respond because it's been home for years, but I will (most likely, hopefully, probably) no longer post here.

Again: Thank you for the fond memories,
Q.
i am
a confusing person.

i may
love things
that i hate;

i may
hate things
that i love.

sometimes
i adore the sun setting
and i close my eyes
as the sun drapes itself
with dust and memories.

then
i despise the way
the sun rises
with false anticipation
for children chasing them,
desiring to touch
even a glint of gold
and sunlight.

but i try not to love
the way your crooked smile
makes everything look
endearing.

because
i am afraid
that i will soon learn
to hate it.
please do not make me adore you.
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