Love is as a peom, written without its end.

As its weary poet inks his barren pen.

An art all men wish to read, though very few can see; yes love is above all things, this world's greatest mystery.

Oh,
my dearest,
Humans ain't even enduring,
then how are we envisioned to
have endless instants.

Moments,
treasure and worship,
such that it prevails eternally,
It's the only way it abides.

isn't it so outlandish to lament on
past moments by neglecting the present?.
Live in the moment,
grasp devotion, yearning, enchantment
and sparks.

only those moments get you
lessons,
not what a triumphant businessman
orates.


We gotta glorify the misery,
idolize the brokenness,
embrace the solitary,
endear the faithless souls,
because all this is what,
take you somewhere in the sky,
to thrive,
to grin,
and to live.

Visions of days yet to come
Perhaps never at all
Possibilities vary
By the thousands they flow
Ever so hard to let go

Return to a memory
Untold words fall
Right into place
Then they all fall
Into the void
Of the waking world
Back into the mind
Where such things belong

Tales never to be told
In the least never in bold
Perhaps tucked away
Never quite to stay
To be whisked away at a moments notice
Gone away from view
Hopefully not even seen by few
Remembered by none
As all comes undone

- Jay M
December 8th, 2020

If only in my greatest tests
I can remain just like you..

To remain a confidence,
For all who are shun

To be our gratitude
In our adversity..

To be bright eyed
When clouds reach the forefront.

and to love, a love
Which paths knows no fork in the roads;
Seemingly your most simplest attributes
Yet your greatest knowledge.

Your absence instilled a winter
For which there’s no seasons;
Yet your warmth rivals it’s very summer....

The days are harder
When it’s bright outside
And the time has changed
You fake a smile
But you’re feeling the same

The days are harder
When you know you haven’t slept
And you open your eyes
Same eyes that have wept
Done with compromise

The days are harder
When you realize that it’s real
That pain means you can’t imagine the past,
Live a make-believe all at the same time and heal
But you tell yourself: “Today is gonna be the last”

And you wish it gets better
Or whatever comes before second best
Because if the days are harder
Then the nights must be the hardest

I always thought of spring as a new beginning;
the start of something new or
the rebirthing of the fallen,
like flowers in bloom after the dead, cold winter

It's what you've always wanted—those cold
winter months are nothing but a buffer to you
and I, the unwitting victim, thought I could
ever be enough for you

But I'm no flower, I'm no spring
I'm not a beginning or a rebirth—
I am death, I am winter
I am the end and the endless void

I'm the buffer you only ever wanted to cling to
until the cold subsides, until you can
come back to your old life—
in my wake, there won't be a drop of tear