The Shortest Poem

the shortest poem
that i can write
about the way i feel
towards you

may only be
a few short words
but they mean more
than what i can do

for actions are nice
and kind and polite
but sometimes
you misconstrue

but nothing
can confuse you
when i whisper
i love you

Just Me

You have the most amazing eyes,
I know that I have told you before,
but I cannot help but stare into them,
completely entranced by the hue.

And your smile, is a perfect art,
with da Vinci´s immaculate precision
drawn upon your infalliable face,
and the envy of all Greek gods.

The arms of complete comfort,
legs of lengthening beauty,
and hair as free as untamed horses,
the embodiment of a marbled hero

And my friends always ask me,
why I think you are so gorgeous,
but I always think it is obvious,
with just one glance at your face.

Maybe it is just me.

Shakespeare

I am not Shakespeare,
No sonnets do my pens scribble,
craft perfectly,
nor contain words that make your heart melt.
And never do I tell stories
as romantic and epically charming
as Romeo and Juliet.

Not in newspapers, magazines or textbooks
will you find my poetry,
nor will my name grace the world
outside the realm of my friends.
For my words remain as mundane
as the daily household chores we slave,
and as trivial as the food we consume.

No singing of mine is in perfect pitch,
nor will it make you blush a scarlet red,
and I have trouble expressing all
my feelings, thoughts,and sentiments,
And although I know I am far from flawless,
and that no Shakespeare am I,
there is thing I can finally say:

"Your smile is the most gorgeous thing
I have ever seen in my life."

Not elegantly put, nor beautifully rehearsed,
as raw as working hands,
and colloquial is an understatement,
of what has just been said,
but your smile has captured me in silence,
that my lips can no longer eloquently utter
the eloquence of your existence.

The Prince

There is a prince,
Who sits in his room reading tales,
of love and romance,
written at the beginning of time,
with faeries, dragons and evil witches.

He reads them frequently,
For several hours each and every day,
up in his room,
only stopping to eat and sleep,
to dream of the life fighting dragons and witches.

Never does he grow tired,
of the same storyline every hour,
with a gallant knight,
fighting the fire breathing monster,
in order to be with his fair maiden.

He is lost in this world,
imagining himself the protagonist,
slaying mercilessly for his one true love,
who unquestionably loves him back,
and they live happily ever after.

He dreams his own novel,
in his mind he fought,
day in and day out to win the heart,
of the girl behind the wooden door,
screaming pleas and cries of help.

There is a prince,
sitting in the room that I stare at,
reading by candlelight the tales of the past,
envisioning himself a part of it,
and I scream pleas and cries of help.

He is my prince,
head in his books,
reading about the love of his life,
who waits for his sweeping hug,
and I stand with arms wide open.