Goodbye, Poetry

Love.
Love is what I describe you.
Love that forges the hands to write
Love that prints the heart in paper white

Night.
Night is the only time I have with you
Where eyes are supposed to meet
And imaginations come to life
But alas, the thunder of reality vanishes the butterflies

Fire.
Fire is the air that I breathe in.
Like passion screaming to be unsheathed.
And tenderness for the enduring stifled affection.

Freedom.
Free from what I am curbed to speak.
With little to no courage to muster
I am bound to engrave ache
That the winds may take the words into your ears

Memory.
Moments that have not transpired.
Alone in the mind, from the ingrains of intimate yearning
Contented albeit scathing,
For emotions remain insatiate.

Love. Night. And Fire.

Freedom. and fictitious Memory.
These five are what comprises my poetry.
But all these is you.
For without you, poems are naught
But empty pleasures.

-Atty. Poet
 Catch 22

Catch 22,
I have a series of “Me and You.”
Meeting you under the sweetest dim of the night
Seeing you in my most proud event in life.

Catch 22,
You and I will never cross paths
Pride may have set back the plan
Or that we have just dodged a bullet that would kill the curious cat.

Catch 22,
I dance under the spell of your eyes
I kiss the cheeks that once ran by tears
Foolhardily, I submit my heart to the woman of steel.
channelling