11:11 | The Life, the Light, the Tears, of the Poet of the Sphere

At eleven minutes passed eleven o’clock I made a wish,
the wish is always the same:
that you and I would always be together,
like an endless summer day filled with love, light, and bliss.

I look at the stagering beauty of nature when I am alone,
and even though I am in-awe
I know that their is something and someone missing-
like the loss that you feel after only a second of pause
when you move away from someone you were just kissing-
I would miss you even if you were two feet away,
and that is why I have to read your words,
and see your beautiful face at the end of every day.

Hearts break every second
like a cocophony of broken lightbulbs on the ground;
my heart breaks every time I see you,
because I still feel so special
to be the poet of your inspiration who you found.

I never believed that the world is like it is
until I first saw the pout of your smile-
you are and you will always be my muse of every moment,
the judge of my heart when it feels on trial.

To me, love is not love if it doesn’t feel effortless;
like poetry, love writes itself
and comes easy when you let go of yourself
and no longer repress.

When I need you, I dream of you.
Love fills my heart when I see you
and you talk to me in words of poetry-
the power of the first word that you ever said to me,
even after all this time, hasn’t for a second begun to lessen;
I can never get enough of you, and I don’t ever want to,
and that is why I think about you,
and I make a wish about you
every day at eleven minutes passed eleven.