Love Poems

Fathers are wonderful people,
too little understood,
And we do not sing their praises
as often as we should,

For Father struggles daily
to live up to his image
As protector and provider
and hero of the scrimmage,

And perhaps that is the reason
we sometimes get the notion
That fathers are not subject
to the thing we call emotion.

But if you look inside Dad's heart,
where no one else can see,
You'll find he's sentimental
and soft as he can be.

Fathers are just wonderful
in a million different ways,
And they merit loving compliments
and accolades of praise,

For the only reason Dad aspires
to fortune and success
Is to make the family proud of him
and bring them happiness,

And like our heavenly Father,
he's a guardian and a guide,
Someone we can count on
to be always on our side.

Your blue eyes are haunting me
Your voice is in my head
My thoughts are spiraling
On all the words you've said

I can see your perfect blonde hair
And hear the guitar as you play
I can't believe I miss you this much
I wish things hadn't changed

We used to be really close friends
But we both wanted something more
But now that I think about
We shouldn't never opened that door

I never hear your ring tone
Because you never ever call
I should've never let this happen
For you, I shouldn't have let myself fall

I really miss your voice
And the way you made my day
I miss how you made me smile
But now that's all faded away

You've found somebody else
And you've let me go
Now that I can't have you
My feelings really show

I miss our late night talks
And your comforting voice
But I have to let you go
I have no choice

You have somebody new
And I hope you're satisfied
My feelings for you I have to let go
I have to leave us behind

There's a pain in my chest
That you'll never know
And even though it hurts
I have to let you go

-Amber Palmer

Hope is a thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings a tune without words
And never stops at all.

And sweetest, in the gale, is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That keeps so many warm.

I?ve heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea
Yet, never, in extremity
It ask a crumb of me.

by Emily Dickinson