Does life improve with the quick passage of time?
Autumn moods set thier claws in nature’s hearts
One breath away: the gloom doom tomb winter’s clime

A thorn in my side, dark clouds in my sky,
Thoughts that aren't mine parading as my own,
Drown me in darkness, cause me to ask why
I feel these attacks, and am I alone?

I feel a poem coming on
My heart
It has the sniffles
I have all the symptoms
Ocean waves that whistle
The unexpected pleasure
Of my deepest
Bluest sea
Titanic treasures

So many people take your beauty for granted,
But I am grateful for you every single day,
Gardeners take care of every seed that's planted,
And I will love you in every possible way.

Bathing in your eyes, every part of me
Knowing the depth of your sincerity
Upside down images of all that you are
Wishing in your well, counting the stars

There is a place where my hand fits in yours, fingers gently laced.
It is there my head rests perfectly in the crook of your neck,
where you can feel me breathe against your skin,

To gallop within the open sea
Feeling the universe inside me
Holding tight to dancing tides
Propelled by all that love provides
Swaying grass along the reefs
Living mythology, our beliefs

Victory my sweet, my discovered tomorrows
Over the hills, down the valleys I release my sorrows
I live my one life: I celebrate
Truth be told I do know how to debate

The passion that time forgot,
ripples beneath the surface in ribbons of color.
Only a sparkling glimpse visible in the facade of flesh.

The soul speaks, it cries your name,

Stepping over sidewalk cracks, the old man in tattered blue jeans and a worn grey tuxedo jacket walked gracefully through Central Park. He carried a bag of crumbs in his right pocket.

Take this poetry from me.
Rip it out of me by the roots
Leave nothing inside of me to remind me
that I once had some beauty in me.
I don't want to be beautiful.
I want you to have it all.

I am not strong enough
to live in this world
where college is expected,
where poetry is for criticism,
where knowledge is for power.
I need a hand to pull me out of this

She basks in Springtime flowers, all in peaceful morning glow.
Soft comfort fills her hours, where life's blessings come to grow.

The Cellist of Sarajevo

As paper to flame, hearts ascend
Cranes of fire pushed upon a sun
A breath of despair finding wings
Among the ashes are the hopeful
Resting the bow against the cello

a bent silence
unattended the changes
subtle through the hours

a white-horse star astray
blocks of darkness
that fall badly

I wonder what has happened to the minds of people
to make poetry seem so dull and even something to laugh at?
It seems as if poetry, a once loved possession,has been kicked

I swore I’d be always single, that
I’d ever be fancy free,
My friends went off to be married, but
I knew that wasn’t for me,
I’d have my fun with the single ones

Her eyes shone like moons at me, so sweetly

Making me forget I knew the word,pain

Her soothing voice fell on me like soft rain

Holding in her hand,an object called a key;

I wish that someone had told me
that it's wrong to post more than two poems.
And more so if the poems are complex
Especially if they do not..... scan
Especially if they do not......make sense.