This is Joe's short bio, in his own words:
I am 24. I have blonde hair and bluish green eyes. I am 6 ft tall and weigh 190 lbs. I go to college at North Central Texas College. I major in computer science and minor in psychology. I love music, dancing and art. I like to draw and paint. I like a few sports; like rugby, volleyball. I write poetry to express my feelings when I don't want to talk.
There are three poems here: "LOVE" , "A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN" , and "A DYING ARTIST"
"LOVE"
LOVE is something to share with others.
It means nothing if you keep it to yourself.
If you don't give your love to others then
it will finally disappear.
The more you give and spread your love,
the more it will grow like a beautiful rose.
LOVE is a feeling that comes from the soul.
Love is the true power of inner peace.
The feeling is greater than any other.
So many people search their whole lives
and will still never find it.
They search in all the wrong places
and in all the wrong ways.
When all along all they had to do
was search within themselves.
Love is something that gets harder and harder
to find everyday.
As society grows into a destructive state
of mind, love finds a way to diminish.
We as people can reverse this situation
by filling the world with the one true power
we have been searching for LOVE........ Return to the poem index
"A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN"
There is this BEAUTIFUL WOMAN
"so sensual and sexual".
Her body is as soft as rose petals.
Her eyes as green as an emerald sea.
Her lips as red as sparkling rubies.
Is she a dream or is she real?
An image that is embedded in my mind.
I wished that I knew.
Will I ever find out?
Her beauty never to be forgotten.
I dream of holding her in my arms.
Pressing her lips against mine.
Feeling the touch of her warm, soft hands.
Just so I can feel her warm embrace.
I open my eyes to find nothing there.
Nothing but a hope and a prayer.
To one day meet the beautiful woman
that my heart holds dear Return to the poem index
"A DYING ARTIST"
I find myself empty inside.
A artist with nothing to create.
Then I realize that I am the creation,
the piece of art.
A piece of art waiting to be made.
When will my painting that I call
my life be finished?
Only one man knows that answer.
The pain and suffering which
has been put into this piece of art.
How much more must I stand?
To finish this masterpiece that I am.
Only to find out that it is worthless
until the day that I die.
Once this piece of art is finished,
my life will also be finished.
And I will still just be another DYING ARTIST. Return to the poem index