Poems For Him Novels & Stories

his hands placed on my shoulder. I tried to shake him off, but he held firm. He locked his eyes onto mine, and he whispers, "Ava, please...listen” with his breath brushing my skin, "You know I love and care about you,those?” He said, pointing to the pictures scattered on the ground, “they mean nothing …..Ava I don’t care about any other lady….look at me,I love you so much Ava” He went on and on about how he never cheated since the last time.

"I love you too, am trying not to think about our miserable death." "I understand, just cheer up my princess, man only die once." He tried to embrace her. "Am not in the mood for cheering up." She pulled away from his embrace. "What about a poem, a love poem? I think that will cheer you up." He pulled her close again, "Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods, or steepy mountain yields. And we will sit upon the Rocks,

The most astonishing thing was that every title tried to minister to me so much more that I was confused. There is a poem titled 'HOPE', there was 'VAGUE AS AIR', 'DEATH AND IT'S PEACE' and other incredible poems all written by Trevor. I read each poem and felt as if he was talking to me directly. His choice of words, sentence construction and presentation of life scenarios embedded in words is just beautiful. Now this guy was not just a devilishly handsome man with a great sense of humor but a writing god. Then I came across the piece I termed my best. I read it over and over again muttering each line. The poem is titled 'SPEAK TO YOURSELF' and it reads thus...

"I love you so much Jane, I've not felt this way for anyone before, believe me, please." "When my grandmother was alive, we used to come here together." She said, "and I would talk about my problems with her for hours. When she passed away, I brought her ashes here and poured them inside this lake so I'll always have something to talk to when I'm broken." She lifted her head, sniffed and turned to look at me, "Frank I really have no one so I'm going to need you to be faithful to me." She said.

You should see hers. He reads it out, in a voice worthy of Television, as though he were standing before an audience. The poet can be poem-less. The writer, word-less And the warrior sword-less. With you, I am not lovel— "Okay, " I say "that's enough for one day.".

Arrogance befit no man for whatever we have today, won’t be buried with us tomorrow. ~Humeyra. HAMDAN’S P.O.V The last messages I got from Humeyra really messed me up. I didn’t know that I meant so much to her that my death would affect her as much as she said. The poem she wrote to me still lingers in my mind as I recall my heart beating to every word that her poetry entailed. The poem goes as follows:

Later, after she fell asleep, I opened my laptop. The blank title field waited. I typed. Until I Wrote Him. The words settled. Not hopeful. Not tragic. Just true.

This poem is titled Blossom. "The recklessness of youth led to the missed opportunities with the ladies. How I long to seek love, but there are no longer blossoms to be had." Smiling, he asked everyone, "Don't you think it's an excellent poem?" Griffin was sorely tempted to smack Dunley. Like hell it was! Just moments ago, he'd been deeply worried that an enemy was approaching. Who would've thought that Dunley simply wanted silence so that he could come up with a poem?

While saying so, Chen looked at everyone with a universal look and whispered, "It also illustrates a few demonesses that only men can endure." His words made the slightly empty hall echo with a loud gulp. "Brother Li..." Xue Bing whispered. His face seemed slightly hesitant. "Can you read us one of your poems?" Chen smiled and shook his head. "Brother Xue... some things, if discussed between brothers, can harm their relationship. My poems are to enrich a man's mind in his solitude. I just wish to sell my collection of poems, write something about this beautiful and warm village of yours and be on my way. Meeting people and forming bonds is the only thing I know."

His smile could light up the entire library. He settles into the leather wingback, my favourite chair, the one I curl up in when I want to feel held, and opens his book. I catch a glimpse of the cover. Pablo Neruda. Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. “Why are you reading that?” He looks up at me. “What?” I clear my throat. What the fuck are you doing Vanessa? I adjust the collar of my shirt. “Neruda. Why are you reading it?”