O paranormal venue, I glance for thy direction
Wherein art thou? Cleaning up for God's inspection;
Art thou hidden? Beneath the moon and stars?
Art thou broken? Unnoticed? Thy heart like me on mar's.

O lost amour', mine soul searches the shore's
Dying daily, not seeking a Maby;
For one I rideth the beam's of color string's
For a hopeless romantic, I do plore.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry

I used to be a night person, until I knew
I would see you every morning. You are better
than my caffeine kick, to get me through the day.
The other day, I told you that I
loved night time. Puzzled,
you asked me why. Little did you know,
It is because in my dreams, I am
always with you. You called the day,
gorgeous, which made me jealous. For I
will never be as beautiful as the morning sun,
that you love so much.

I could convince myself that I never fell in love with you, that I simply wrote you into a fiction novel that was my life. That you were merely a sub character written on three or four pages within the entire story, but that's not the truth. It was not a fiction story it was my life and you were the main character who was written on every page. There were traces of you running through every aspect of my being. Without realizing it my story revolved around you an my characters relationship. I wish we hadn't disappointed the readers and I could've made them happy about the fact that the two main characters ended happily ever after. That didn't happen though, our story didn't end happily it ended heartbroken.

I knew I had lost you the second I found myself looking you in the eyes and still missing you. I have your hands intertwined with mine, but your heart has long escaped to find home with a face unfamiliar to me. You still fill my ears with words that could make even the sweetest of candy jealous, but they taste stale. When we started finding comfort in exploring abandoned places that had long lost the life and light that was once in them, I never thought I would have that same feeling when looking at you. When did you become so vacant? When did you stop feeling me an only touching me? When did your words become so cold that they stopped having the ability to make me melt?

it's easy to give up writing
have done it quite oftentimes
to focus on harder things
and not waste on easy rhymes!

each time i give up the pen
achieve some wonderful feat
i am that man once again
who does for others little bit!

whenever give the keys rest
close the door of poetryland
come upon a chance not to waste
to extend someone a helping hand!

times i clipped the bard's wings
landed my mind on the ground
met these eyes many things
doing which joys knew no bound!