Rolling in vapid indignation,
Violet trees bloom rapidly
Seething succulent felt petals

Your love is strange
Cold like winter's darkest nights,
Hot like summer days

I'm not offended
if I were disliked:
it would serve me fine
if in myself I take delight

Like a bench beneath
the autumn leaves,
I stay where you left me
gathering time, not dust.

Poetry
Can be
A way to recreate
Reality
Or at least
***** about it
Incessantly

Would you notice,
if the sky turned black?
Would you notice,
If all the trees cracked?

Would you notice,
If the rivers ran dry?
Would you notice,
If the lakes began to cry?

Would you notice,
if the sun was gone?
Would you notice,
if the days ran too long?

Would you notice,
if I left this place?
Would you notice,
if you stopped seeing my face?

Humility and gentleness
Are often mistaken for weakness
Selfish and ignorant minds
Just cannot understand tenderness

My mistakes haunt me
just when I have caught a break
they're thrown in my face.