Mister Stephen King quotes,
"We should write every day!"
If one was to do that,
We would very soon
Run out of things to write about.

I saw you dancing In the ocean
Writing love letters In the sand
A spirit no one could tame
Holding beauty in your hands

In the instant that you feel so free
In the second that the truth reveals
Running wild up your spine
And then you know that it's real

There are signs we choose to follow
There are roads we choose to take
A bitter pill that's hard to swallow
Too big of a decision to make

Every road leads back around
Soon enough if you take the wrong turn
And sometimes all you ever need
Is someone to help you learn

And all I ever needed was someone
That would teach me how to fly
Someone to open my door
And turn me loose into the sky

And all I ever needed was someone
To show me how to shine
Like the stars above
And then burn bright like the sun
All I'll ever need is you
You're that someone

Poetry is the fine line that divides our world from a world we never knew existed.

My life before I counted plain.
I was no stranger to the pain
And more than sunshine,
Was always rain.

Each thing in life
I held as thread
Had only left me empty
And filled with dread.

With hints of confusion
That did surround my mind
Such a lonesome life
I once called mine.

My life before had been a dream
Not waking up without a scream.
I was no friend to the sunlight
Nor it's warm and kindly beam.

Each day I loathed,
Each day I wept.
No one to share
My sorrows kept.

And through each lie
That said "I'm fine."
Such a sadly life
I once called mine.

I don't want people to notice me, because I don't want them to realize that there's nothing there to be noticed.

Do you hear it? That sound.
That deafening sound.
That GHASTLY unnerving sound!
Is it the clock which mocks
Every last beat of my heart? No.
Is the sound a Shrill
A cry or moan?
A sound that I know
Well enough alone? No!
What is the sound
Which I must - I MUST drown?
Oh God in Heaven!
What is that unhindered noise?
Is there none to rid that horrid tone?
The tone which
Makes all madness known?
The sound that drives a good man mad
The noise that to my misery add?
What is the theme
That brings me to screams
But SILENCE?

How childhood hour
Hath been a lasting dream!
And my soul still not waking
To the awaiting dawning beam!

An eternity spent
In shame and sorrow.
So that I could not gaze
Or dwell upon the morrow.

Dreams have been
Nothing more to me,
Than a brazen lie,
And more so a harsh reality.

For in that reality,
There were no hope to be found.
And with that commentary,
I share no common ground.

Though I have been happy
In a time before.
But this emotion
Was only found in dreams.

But in waking life,
I have felt no sadness more.
Nor have seen such light,
That o'er me will beam.

Writing is not a hobby
It's the soul having the opportunity
To speak on It's own.
It's a way of life.
And the more you write,
The more you breathe life
Into a society
That the rest of the world
Has left for dead.

Vivid dreams
Of my lover's screams
In sickness and of plight.
Try as I may
To rid these dreams
I will have them again tonight.
Every morsel of tortured sleep
And each moment of poisoned thought,
I find despair, no comfort there
And no greater anguish my soul has brot

I am alone in the world of naught.
In a place what tends my soul to rot.
A situation of constant moan,
I wish with life, I could atone.
And differences I would set aside
Only then with joy could I abide.
But such wish is beyond my reach
To learn such things
So I might teach.

"You will never fulfill your dream
If you do not finish that book."
I'm tired. I'll work on it more tomorrow.
"What if tomorrow never comes?
Then what?
Do you want the title to become:
'Hank Love's unfinished works'?"

Of course not, but I can't necessarily
Writeif nothing comes to mind.
"That's because you gave up
While you were ahead.
You thought you had
All the time in the world to do it in.
But today's words
Will be tomorrow's reminder."

There's a bench in a park
That I know so well.
And on that bench is a man,
Taking his last few breaths.
Passerby's stop to look at the man,
And feel pity for him,
Yet do not send for an ambulance.
He is wearing clothes
That are not his own.
"God help my poor soul," he cries
On that cruel October night.
And this man,
Whom I've never met before,
Shares with me a kindred spirit
That I have not felt more.
And this place, I only know in dreams,
And his time, was long before mine.
Farewell to the late Mister Poe
And to the dreams you left behind.

Shes looking out the window of her
Two bedroom apartment
Looking down at all
The different faces below
She had a change of heart
And moved into the city
Trying to find the love
She never found at home

But now she's living
A hundred miles an hour it seems
Putting food on the table
And trying to live her dreams

So this is a song for you
From the man across the hall
You never really know
Who you have behind you
Until you've taken the fall

Does it ever get lonely
When you're living for the moment
Does it drive you mad
When you think its only you

I'm always home and I hear
When your tears are flowing
Come and knock on my door
And see things from a different point of view

This great world
Has so many different turns
You've got to cross your bridges
Before they all get burned

So this is a song for you
From the man across the hall
You never really know
Who you have behind you
Until you've taken the fall

I want to see the world
As the world sought me out to be-
A monster. A villian.
The unethical and absurd lies
Have made me what I am.
While they were in reckoning
With something they were
Yet to understand
And lived in utter horror  
Of the monster they created.

Butterflies can't see their beautiful wings. Maybe you're the butterfly.

Never be ashamed of your past.
Your pain may be the key
To someone else’s cell.

I'm only able to see the world through one eye,

And yet I see more beauty in it than those who see out of two.

You spread like
A wildfire inside my soul.
I breathe you in,
But you choke me as I let you go.

You shine in my darkness,
But you burn me with the sunlight.
You give me wings,
But they're broken and I can't fly.

You chain me up
Still you gave me the key.
But my hands are tied,
And I can't break free.

A very rich man
Came walking down the street.
He saw a lowly begger
Clinging to his feet.
"Spare some change sir?"
He said with no remorse or shame.
"For just a dollar I'll share my story
And you will know my name!"
The rich man, annoyed, shoved him
"I'm very late! I've no time to debate!"
And he went on his way.

But little did he know
He would meet the man again
On the very next day.
"Spare some change?
I now have asked you twice!
For just a dollar I will share
Some friendly advice."
Again, the rich man angered
Shoved him and went about his way.
Little did he know
He would lose his job that very day.

In few months time,
He was down to his last dime,
Little did he know
He would meet the man one final time.
"Spare some change?
I'll never ask again!
And I will tell you
How we are the same within!"

The once rich man
Tossed his dime
On the ground next to him.
"Alright!" He cried.
"I'm giving up the fight!
Do tell what about me
Has captured your delight!"

The beggar laughed.
"So easily you forget!
Tell me has it crossed your mind
That we have somewhere met?"
The man puzzled for a moment
About the people he had known before.
The strangers on the street,
The beggars at his feet,
Or the salesmen that came in numbers
And showed up at his door.

"Say no more,"
The beggar sighed.
"I can see you don't recall
My name is Fred,
You would know me more instead
If I still worked in a suit and tie.
You couldn't recognize me,
Because you couldn't
See yourself in my position.
But now you do, and so it's true
That we're only the same
In certain situations."

"So what about the lesson?"
The man asked.
"What about that crack?
"I learned that when you fired me,
When the world has taken everything,
The only thing to do
Is to take something back!"

People are angels who have not yet learned to fly.

Some people get butterflies
In their stomachs.
Others, however have moths.

It was the spring,
And it was love.
I was well of age
But remained a child
When it came to matters of love.
We spent our days
In the aroma
Of the greenest fields
Surrounded by the most
Well groomed flowers.
I had picked a flower for her that day.
The blossom in her hair
Has become a daily
Photograph in my mind.
The flower served as example.
For the reason that everything fades.
The flower, the spring, and love.
But also that whatever dies,
New life comes about.
There will always be
Another flower to be picked,
The spring shall come again,
And love is eternal.

Where others were,
I was not present.
While others spake,
I was silent.

As others were,
I was not.
And what others saw,
I could not bring myself to see.

At what age others were,
I remained a child.
And the things they so heard,
I had covered my ears.

While others loved,
And had shared love
With one another,
I loved alone.

I have always had a knack for eavesdropping.
Tho I am not in the least 
Fancied by the distant conversation.
The corresponding voice 
Of the majority's cry.
Place me in a situation,
Shrouding me 
Corrupting my sense. 
The constant laughter
By sounds unbearable 
The foreign words I cannot understand 
Tho do respect. 
The gentle voice enchants me so 
And am saddened by cries of woe
I look upon faces of different races
Precise to their own thoughts. 
My father told me long ago 
The curious eye does not go wanting
And the naked ear is evil. 
Such curious nature
Tho strictly forbade. 
I am bound by sand and sin 
Not to wander aimlessly into that distance. 
My thoughts indeed carry
By the countless tongue.
I hearken close to the strangers voice
To long for something to drown 
Out my own noise. 
In heed of advice only this.
For the unbirthed feeling to belong
And the fragment of admiration 
Lay gently upon my ear. ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

In the old town of Baltimore,
Where the Wild Things grow
Sits a lowly Raven,
Looking over the people below.
Perched on a sill, ever so still
Waiting for him to return,
Desperately calling his master
As the lanterns continue to burn.
He speaks with the dead,
And stands in the shadows,
Listens to birds while they sing,
As the chambers of his lonely heart,
Are ever so emptying.
The Raven, paitently waiting,
Making no steps nor a sound,
Faithful obedient servant,
Friend, eternally Earthbound.
Hear of this creature,
His song is his story,
About the one who was Lost,
This man they called him Poe,
While his name, the rest of the world forgot.
The man dressed in black
We wait to come back,
And bid his children well.
Through the many years of his wisdom,
Is a place we enjoy to dwell.
He calls to the villians to do his bidding
The Children of the night,
As terror takes away the feeling
Of days ever so warm and bright.
"Dessemble you creatures,
Evil and tyrant,
The night is ever so young,
Let's raise our mugs,
You thieves and thugs,
As we wait for him to come."
That is the story
Of the mysterious Raven
Who's been there since time began,
Wandering this Earth for Centuries,
Searching for this Immortal Man.
To this day we light our candles
The night is so black,
Waiting for our Master,
In hopes he'll find his way back.

How I celebrate the morning,
In it's warm, and welcoming light!
Though how I dread the wretched darkness,
And the gruesome tortured night!

For my thoughts deprive me of sleep
And accompany the shadows
Cast in gloom.
And in those hours I only weep
And fear my pending doom.

And even the splendid moon,
Does not lift my spirits, more.
And love grants no boons
Than what my heart had felt before.

I'm not a man of many friends,
I'm a man surrounded by people
Who appreciate my existence
As much as I do theirs.

When I asked for love,
That I might hold it in abundance
I was given weakness
That I might succumb to it.

And though I asked for love,
Love never once asked for me.
I had not known love,
But love knew well of me.

I asked for compliance with love,
Though it never once held favor.
And while I could not
Bring myself to love,
She loved me.

I didn't need help,

I needed you.

I didn't need a light

When I was in darkness,

I needed you

To walk through it with me.

I didn't need a jacket

When there were storms.

I just needed to know

That you would always

Hold the umbrella.

I didn't need a reason

Why I needed you.

I needed you to tell me

That you would never leave.

After 3 long years I have finally finished this poem!

It was many a year ago

And even longer still,

In this lighthouse by the shore,

That I was sure I heard a noise,

A scream at my chamber door.

 

At that moment my soul grew weary,

My spirit naught but ash

Which had carcassed and fell upon the floor.

And my shadow still,

Which Surpassed me

Long ago in the forsaken days

Of Yore.

 

At that moment in my heart

There was a certain burning

Soon there became a 

Constant Yearning

A desire that I had long

Forgot about before.

A series of utter bedlam

Which had never frightened me before.

 

Moments passed

With no mere word

Which was spoken

Though remained unheard.

 

As I kept to myself

Upon my many books of lore

As their voices broke the

Untaimed silence

And fell upon my ****** ear

 

"Shall I intrude

This proven evil?

Is it man, or is it devil

Which made this deafening

Shrill upon my door?

Beast or human who so

Dared to leave his darkened

Shadow upon the floor?"

 

At my door

There came a sudden tapping

With many voices overlapping

The voice of those

Who had been dead and gone

Long before

Once a knock, nothing more.

 

As fear burned within my eyes

From my chair

I was yet to rise

presently here

and no further

My soul I could pertain no longer

My faith doubted by the

Very thing which stood

Behind my entrance door.

 

"Sir," said I. "Forgive me

If I seem mistreating

But the simple fact is

Entrance indeed you are

Entreating."

I stood there my heart ever beating.

 

"Late is the night

I have no room to borrow.

Though indeed

You may return tomorrow.

Surely your departure

I must implore.

 

I admit I have not remained

A well kept host,

I am a man not visited my most.

I have my doubts

And I became engrossed

When I was sure I heard you

Knocking at my chamber door."

Twas here had I opened the door.

 

Somewhere deep into that darkness, lurking,

Was a beast who stood emerging,

Demanding acknowledgement that I’ve never once gave before.

And with that reason,

In my heart I felt such treason

Such betrayal have I never felt more!

“Are you are you man or are you beast?

Are you coward, or are you least?

I demand you reveal yourself to me!”

 

Slowly, ever slowly

This visitor, rude and lowly,

Came into the light wholly presenting himself to me!

 

The Horror! The unspeakable truth!

Had I been such a fool in my own youth!

For I tell you in God’s own truth,

That child was me in my own youth!

Here I slammed the door!

 

 

And this creature, never speaking,

Is still entreating entrance at my chamber door,

And his eyes have seen all things

From demons jeering,

And the light above him dreading,

To cast even his shadow upon the floor.

For in life I’m caught in dreaming,

And the scream shall poison these dreams forevermore!

I wrote this fictional letter, upon recommendation on a website to put an end to my insufferable writer's block and to inspire me to write further.


Dear sir,

Of course I realize, that it has been longer than intended since I have last written to you. In that aspect, I assume that upon the arrival of this letter, you will find yourself in a series of bewilderment, whereas, I have only previously written to you when it came to a matter of expense, and for that, I apologize.

When I think upon the past twenty four years, that I have called you "father," I feel great shame in the way I have acted previously. You of all people would know the nature of my being, what I am accustomed to and capable of doing and still do you show such kindness in your heart.

It is true, that when I have been caught in dispute, I have called upon your name, for I have had no other to call "friend". Only now, in this present day, do I write to you this letter. Not with requests, but with the secrets of my heart, things that I have not once spoken of, that only I know.

When my thoughts reflect to the past, I see how many things you did, within your power, to provide for us children, of your generous nature and kindred spirit, in spite of the most things of utmost ignorance, and ingratitude in my heart, you did for me.

I write to you, also, because I have none other to write to. I am alone. The fact of the matter, is I have been alone, longer than I have cared to. People and things of the past, have since held me in abandonment, and all hope has flown from me.

I am not well. Physically speaking, I am fit as a fiddle, though I have not since been tune with life. She has taken all means of enjoyment from my life. There is no light to be found. She has, in a way, corrupted my very means of existence.

Would you not write one letter to me? Has all means of humility escaped your character? Is my suffering, not in the slightest a matter of importance to you?
For God's sake, I admit the deed! I am indeed as you've said previously, an ignoramus! But there is a matter at hand, more crucial than this unnecessary feud!

I do hope, for my sake, that you should find some peace in your heart, before mine ebbs away from me further. It would indeed be a shame, that I should die all too soon. I do not, by any means have the intention on taking my own life, but the issue at hand has since left me broken hearted, and physically ill with shame.

May God have mercy on you, sir.

Your Servant,
H.A Love.

Must I pretend
That I have no will
For such a rhyme to be penned?
What to do? Woe is me!
Shall I torment my thoughts longer,
Or shall I flee?
For what then,
Has life for me, set aside?
What for me, will life provide?
My passion is only found in dreams!
Such a place
To satisfy my means!
And it is by no means
That I should put away these dreams
For what more is life better served
Than dreams?

My dear brother, I should hope
This letter finds you well,
And has not aggravated
Our relationship further.

The dreadful winter
Is here again at last,
And the year is 2020.

Of course I realize
That you have been
Long since dead,

Tho I write this letter
In my own form
To communicate with you.

How I miss things in our own time.
The smell of barley,
Leaves me ill with longing for home.

I should have taken my place
Between you and our parents
Long ago.

Transportation is different
In this age and time.
There are no carriages in sight.

I'm concerned, brother
Of things in this world.
I live in a world full of masquerades.

Letters are a thing of the past,
And the accursed "internet"
Has overruled our old-fashioned ways.
(How I loathe Thomas Edison!)

In short, brother, I am ill.
Not of life,
But without any will to live longer.

We've since reached
Another century,
And yet have had anything to improve.

How many centuries
Must I suffer longer?
How must I part ways with life?

Godspeed, brother.
Until we should meet again.

O Maria,
Through the misted fog
Indeed I come.
Shrouded by the wretched smell
Of twenty shipmates
Lying, dying,
Beating, hating,
Praying it's not too late, Maria!
Tho the eyes of the world
Will not see thine beauty
And a thousand men
Cannot save thine soul
On the waves against the storming tide
Thou will watch as I return!

"Step right up
And give it a go!
Ladies and gentlemen
Prepare for a show!

With my elixir,
You'll see oh so fine!
Step right up!
Who will be first in line?


A man makes his way
To the front of the stage.
"I only have one question,
How is it made?"

The man shakes his head
And smiles with pride
"It's an old family secret,
I cannot tell you what contents
Are held inside!"

But it costs a shilling
And not a cent more;
This is a deal
You shouldn't throw out your door!"

"But What's the trick?
What is the catch?"

"To Prove you are quick!
And the others are no match!
But i will agree,
You'll want me to prove!
Watch and you'll see,
Your aiming improve!"

The pistol is fired,
The hat is thrown in the air!
No more enjoyment
Would one find there!

The pistols fired,
The lead hits the hat!
What more excitement
Would you feel rather than that!

"How is it done?
How can it be?"
Asks the mammoth crowd
Gathered as far as the eye can see.

Amongst them there,
In the crowd A man stood
None other than Mister Hardin
Who was up to no good.

"You're a fraud," said he.
"It is easy to tell!
You're quite the schemer,
And I'll send you to hell!"

The pistol is fired,
As death fills the air
Twas the last time
That Johnny  did not play fair.

Alas, the feeling has kept me ill
That mocking passion within me still.
For I know well, I am shorn of my pride
And no manner in life shall provide.

How I loathe the poets
In a time before!
And the use of language
Which exists no more!

Try-how I try!
To comprehend the subtle wording
And the use of literature today
From yesterday converting!

And even the pen! A simple pen!
Mocks me with its cruel indifference
And the blank page, which words appear
Though my mind, shows interference!

Critics all! And I am mine!
How I long to make a piece so fine!
Alas the feeling since has left me ill
That mocking passion within me stills!

Ah Torn is the sacred veil
Love is forevermore!
Ring the bells,
A lonely spirit dwells nevermore!

So late the hour, so sweet the tune
I find my solace neath the moon.
While the village sleeps, and all is sound
Such a place where love is found.

Our talks were civil
And our feelings glad.
Tho the white dwarf stars
Had left us sad.

At rest upon
The crescent brim
I lie and sing
My somber hymn.

And the moon
Who has heard my somber tune
Would permit my soul
All too soon.

Tho the moon's own light
Begins to fade,
I must depart and return
On another day.

Look, for death has cast its shadow
And Reared its head.
Now my love that lies before me,
Has left a feeling filled with dread.
How her eyes
That has seen all things,
What a mood of macabre
Over my soul it brings!
And her lips,
That have still much left to tell,
Now lies with secrets
Which she knows all too well!

Hear the clanging of the keys,
The Dreadful keys!
What a mood of sorrow
The wretched piano brings!
How they clang, how its tune
Would drive me mad all too soon!
And the heavens hold their ears
All hours of the night
While I sit in tortured silence
In meakness and in blight!
Even the gruesome metronome
Have I grown to envy now
Its constant ticking with my heart
Has left a feeling so profound!
Hear the constant banging of the keys
The ghastly keys!
I have grown tiresome
Of the unwelcome tune it brings!
Through every grueling sound
Has left me anxious now
And how I rue the day
From this horrid instrument I found!

For things in Life,
Which I love most
I cannot hold.
The things in life
Which I hold presently,
I must not love.

The ring upon my finger
And the sweat upon my brow
A perfume around me sweetly lingers
As I take my solemn vows.
The jewel upon her hand
Has since left me with a feeling, grand
And now I am well endowed.
And my love, who loves me fair,
Looked as the angels with golden hair
Had found her purpose being there
And my heart is delighted now.
While a feeling came o'er me
As she spoke these sacred vows
Such desire burned within me
Our love, is like a fire now.
Love! From love I could not be shaken
God forbid I'm lost in dreams,
And if so I will not waken!
Lest sadness over me be taken
And these vows would be forsaken
Then in truth I would be dying now.

Wouldst thou feel loved?
Then let not thine heart
From yesterday be worn!
In the world, be one with love
And thine feelings aside not be torn.
The being which thou art,
And things thine eyes have seen,
Take gentle care of thine own heart
And thy wits about thou keen!

Not all depressed people wear black.
Depression doesn't only come at night.
Not all of them listen to metal music
Sadness often comes without a sound.

The world is settled to judge quickly. They fail to realize that the world, too,  began as a dream.

"How Fascinating your mind must be!" 
Take a look inside, and you will see. 
It's very dark, don't lose your way.
People often visit, though never stay. 

"In your head, what would we find?" 
Things are broken, so please be kind!
Scattered pictures from a time before,
You will find it's quite a bore! 

"How lonely it must be inside your brain!"
It is a place that's seen much pain. 
Deep in earth, my love lies cold, 
From every lie it has been told! 

"We've changed our minds
We have our doubts!"
Then that makes two 
Please get me out!

I passed a man
On the street today.
He said Hello
But not his name.

I went to the cemetery
With respects to pay
This is the second time
I saw this man that day.

He'd been there a while
It was easy to tell.
Such a strange place
Where someone would dwell.

I said Hello,
But no answer he gave.
Though I learned his name
When I looked at his grave.

A fool chases his dreams
And leaves himself behind.

Sometimes your friend is your greatest enemy, and sometimes your greatest enemy is your friend. Sometimes, you are both.

The way to love someone with anxiety is to accept the apologies that are not there to be forgiven.