If nature were so flattered by poems written with itself in mind as people are we would be moving mountains

There seems to be a drought in my… but who knows if it is the cause or the result of the war raging within me

Just when I get back on my feet you pass on by and I lose my footing Again

I would write a sweet poem and title it with your name if I loved you at all

You asked what I knew about you and I thought up a list of twenty things

If I was once the tallest mountain your love was the wind that eroded me to nothing

I know that you were there in my dreams and in my arms Every dream we

I write sharp words with a sharper knife on page after page of what might as well be the skin of my back

I get my silence in five minute doses before the plane overhead brings me back to earth

There is something to be said of a true friend One who will pull the knife from your back One who will stitch the wounds

Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin