We share our intimate verbiage
Tearful, tortured souls are bared
Ripples of poetry reverberate  
Through myths and muse and fears

Who are these mysterious poets
With whom we write and laugh
Some could be different than they claim
A dark catfish in a poet’s guise
Worse, others playing nefarious games

Shall mysterious friends be trusted
We don’t even know genuine names
Yet, I declare, my mysterious friends
Names, ages, and past do not hinder me
We can hide our facts and our faces
Yet poet friends we will truly be

We’ve known people for many years
Spent hours on trivial small talk
We don’t know who they really are
We’ve shared poems in anonymity
Yet we’ve bled more deeply by far

To all mysterious friends, poets one and all
No need to inspect you face to face
To trust you with my naked soul!

You.
You weren't the first thing
on my mind
when I woke up this morning.
My eyes fluttered open,
and for the first time,
in a long time,
my thoughts didn't
automatically float to you,
as if on cue.
I fear you're fading from my memory,
one soft kiss at a time.

Even
one fleeting moment
is too long
alone

without you

does sharing these little small things
if I stitch them all together, the glaces and smiles
can it make the sum of it all
equal more than what it is

the shows we have watched
the eyes you make at me
does it make us a little more than friends?

It's a little bit
Coincidental
How you can become
Engrossed
With a new understanding of
Your Self
And start seeing the
Resemblances
Of what you have now been made
Aware
In everyday reminders.
But
Maybe it's just the obvious
Conclusion
Of an average
Idealist


*© NDHK

If guarded thoughts
can be whispered
into air as mist...
Would it feel like cleansing  
to the ones those words
fall upon?



*© NDHK