A modern view on the most complete form of true love

They sat together with their friends,

Curious and unsure,

Her eyes were turned to look at him,

And his to look at her.

He was tall and bulky,

While she was short and slim,

He was very dark and tan,

She had light brown skin.

Her curves were as curvy as curves could be,

And her eyes were pale and bright,

They wished that they could marry,

But not everything was right.

They bitterly forsook their dreams,

For coincidence was fateful,

They mourned that they could not be wed,

For they were just potatoes.

Copyright January 9, 2017 by Christina Gatchel. This post may not be copied or reproduced without express permission from the author.

Night Flowers

Petals in the night air,

 Swirling through the sky,

 Illuminated by the stars

 As though the light could make them fly

Darting quickly through the darkness

 Like a shadow in the trees,

 Bringing tales of places far,

 Stories through the scented breeze

Soft as feathers on the wind,

Like the wings of moths they flew,

 Carried off to places far,

 Places that they never knew

Nearly hidden in the blackness,

 Fleeting ghosts of paradise,

Slowly shriveling in the cold,

Whispers of their former lives

Falling down from skies above,

Withered when they once were bright,

Drained of life from darkness cold,

Dead before the day brings light.

Copyright September 5, 2016 by Christina Gatchel. This post may not be copied or reproduced without express permission from the author.

The hidden people

Whatever you do, don't forget to be yourself,

Because it would be very strange if you were someone else.

There are times when everyone must hide away what's real,

But if it's kept down for too long, you soon forget to feel,

As it builds thick walls of steel you try to hide behind,

Then it surrounds you and consumes you, and there's nothing left to find,

But the empty shell that was how people saw you,

Then there no escape because those people didn't know you.

Copyright September 7, 2015 by Christina Gatchel. This post may not be copied or reproduced without express permission from the author.

Memories lost

Moments, precious, sacred bits of time,

Dusty, tattered, now they're left behind,

Things we once held dear,

Nightmares we used to fear,

Lost, forgotten deep inside the corners of our mind.

Friends once close, now so very far away,

Dreams soon gone in remembrance of day,

No one cares and no one cries,

When a thought or idea dies,

 Bright colors of memories fading slowly away to gray.

Items once held close, now there's no thought you have to spare,

The little things you'd cry about, but now you barely care,

Growing up and standing bold,

Throwing down what you would hold,

What had once comforted you, now will no longer be there.

Copyright August 19, 2015, by Christina Gatchel. This post may not be copied or reproduced without express permission from the author.

My Father

Since today is my father's birthday, I decided that I should write him a poem. This is his poem, and I am sharing it with you.

The one that tickles you while you’re asleep,

The one you tell your promises you both intend to keep.

The one who has an extensive collection of ties he never wears,

The one who holds you tight at random moments ‘cause he cares.

The one who has a belly laugh that echoes all around,

The one who snores at night, shaking the windows with the sound.

The one who works real hard each day so we can have some money,

The only one who ever dares to call our Mother ‘honey’.

The one with arms so open wide, the perfect length for hugs,

The one who has several sizes of coffee mugs.

The one who plays with you, and still’s a good sport when he loses,

The one who wiggles his socked foot from open-toed shoeses.

The one who’s up all day and night doing the oddest things,

The one who doesn’t care how off tune he is, he still sings.

The one who is an example of the father up above,

Who showers all his daughters with a special kind of love.

Copyright July 3, 2015, by Christina Gatchel (otherwise known as Chris-the-awesome). This post may not be copied or reproduced without express permission from the author.

The end of the world

When all is lost and gone away,

And no more life to see,

No branches swaying in the wind,

No where for one to be.

No golden sun or sunset red,

No promises for time to keep,

For Earth has rest her tired head,

And fallen in eternal sleep.

An empty world to waste away,

No relief for her barren ground,

No end to night with dawn of day,

a lonely earth without a sound.

When all is lost and gone away,

And mother earth has rest her head,

The world is cold and dark and still,

And everything is old and dead.

Copyright March 13, 2015 by Christina Gatchel. This post may not be copied or reproduced without express permission from the author.