What doth give a rainbow its hue
doth the pearl of early morn dew
or the migrating birds that flew
what doth paint the rainbow hue
Is it the love that hearts to sew
or the breeze from far that blew
oh what doth paint a rainbow on sky blue
doth the sea know its color true
yet loved in heaven a rainbow true
tis a love a hue painted without clue

I would have said so many things to you
But the words were too heavy
And my voice isn't strong enough
I managed, "I'll see you again"

We are not heavy.
Nothing in this life needs to be heavy
God was not a Mason, moving heavy brick
God was an artist, painting weightless strokes
Every second we had together was a stroke of God
On perfect canvas

The story of our lives cannot be contained on the pages between two covers
Sometimes the stories need space and more ink
She would fill an entire book

I would give up shooting stars
And making wishes
Because I had everything
And traded it for anything, which wasn't her
We all make mistakes; we all have our sins
But what would you give
To start it again

So I use my shooting stars to bless her life
I use my magic moments to ask for our life
To not be separated too long
Because that was the hardest goodbye

In our tears, I could hear
Her whispering profanities
Waves of my gratitude
For who she taught me to be
"You're such an *******," she said
And I know how she feels
How can goodbye be something that's real?
Our book is not done
There's more to be said
So instead of "The End"
"I'll see you again."

I just want somebody who wants
to ******* mind at 3 am
who doesn't get annoyed by my jealousy and by me texting them
in all caps when I'm happy and
texting them 6 times in a row
someone I can walk with at the park
and stay 5 hours on the swings
just laughing and talking about anything that pops up onto our minds
somebody who isnt afraid to catch me when I fall for them
I want someone who
kisses my forehead
holds my hands and
never wants to let go
I want someone who knows me
inside and out and
knows what I'm thinking just
by glancing at me
someone I can sing along
to the radio with
someone who chooses me over anyone else and doesn't think twice about it

I just really want that to be you

j.f

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f

A Blood Moon Night
Written by Adam M. Snow

Tonight I watched in awe,
the moon once pure and white.
Obeying the nighttime law;
lighting the sky so bright.
The stars, the moon in sync,
dancing their worries away.
The end can happen in a blink;
a sudden halt would not sway.
Darker the night grew -
and darker the moon dost shine.
I stood there in awe, in view,
- a bloodish sublime.
The proud moon once danced so free,
now cowering behind a blood red veil.
I stood there in awe to see,
the world halt with a quail.
The moon eclipsed in a taint of dark red;
I stood there in awe in yonder.
"Is not the moon dead?
What of this?" I ponder.
Hours pass feeling like eternity,
watching the blood moon night pass.
Returning the world back to modernity,
knowing this isn't the last.
The moon is pure and white once more.
Don't succumb to joy just yet.
Again it'll happen, I swore -
three more nights, a blood moon to fret.