Happy To Know You Still Care

You can't predict anything in life...

Most Beautiful music in the world is your own heartbeat.

It gives an assurance that you will survive 

even when the whole world leaves you alone...

and my heartbeat is you

Starting phase of love begins with friendship

and keeping a friend is as difficult as losing one

you sacrifice a lot to keep them.

I may not have sacrified enough for you..

but in my heart I swear am keeping you

Once I wish to have a key to your heart

now I have the heart but the key is lost forever...

We had a fight

We stop talking to each other

Days pass by

I still feel the sense of your touch

How you make me smile

Now those days are over...

We always fight about stupid things

and regret later..

We always feel sorry

and do it again

On my birthday you gave me a rose

and said goodbye..

I was so stupid to think for

one second you actually cared..

Author's Note

Review it and give your honest views...I am waiting:)

Reviews

[Jack Isaac]

It would be more inviting to know who this poem is for, but whoever it was lost a valuable friend --anyone who understands that "the most beautiful music is a heartbeat and that heartbeat is for you" would be a good friend indeed. This poem has a nice flow and is SO well written. Thanks, and excellent work!

[Undying Glory]

such a sad poem and this was real good. those feelings of betrayal and anger really colour this poem very deep. hope you're doing better now...
anyway this was so powerful and those pictures you've added are great complements to everything. good work here!!

[Hatchling]

love it

[Jazique]

Nice that was a great and inventive poem in a sense. I mean I like the two little pics, especially the one with the penguin and the giraffe and it goes well with your written piece. You wrote this very well with a nice flow of words as you explained the starting point of friendship and at the end "How you know you still care," which is always a great point at the end. Anyways to put it short it really was a good writings.

[Kelsie Eileen Stark]

The ending tied up the whole thing together perfectly. I REALLY can realate to this, but not in the 'dating' topic. Family can do this to you, and if they don't show love/care how will you believe that they actually do? Always show your feelings, even if it is embarressing. Because some have to see it to believe it.
Good job~

[Kenneth The Poet]

I see a parent breaking promises here. A few too many I might add. A stellar piece I think.

[Enigma]

"Most Beautiful music in the world is your own heartbeat.

It gives an assurance that you will survive
even when the whole world leaves you alone...
and my heartbeat is you" - My favourite lines.

The poem is well written. Although I wont say that I'm in agreement with the way it ended. For one, she might actually care. But sometimes, things go out of hand and roll so far away that its impossible to reclaim those lost moments and presence. But overall, a good poem. Thoughtful pictures.

[realmwriter]

Good poem. Honest, raw and full of emotion. The pictures that accompany it are perfect. Very childlike, which I suspect is part of the point. What color was the rose? I think it red, perhaps yellow, but red fits better. Perhaps she will return one day expecting a rose from you. Very well done...!

[EMMIE]

OMG THE PIC AT THE END IS THE CUTEST!!!!!!! I JUST LOVE THIS! THERE IS SO MUCH TRUTH AND REALITY IN THIS POEM AND IT'S VERY SPECIAL WRITTEN FOR A SPEACIAL PERSON I BET ;)

[_]

yeah! :D my heartbeat is what i dance to to everyday one two step uh oh stairs fast jive now! i think you're pitcures were wicked and as well as your poem
On my birthday she gave me a rose

and said goodbye..

I was so stupid to think for

one second she actually cared..

captures a tear from my eyes :')

[Dayran]

Some detailing in a confrontation that may be long due. It reads with a slight jerkiness, as if the poet is asking himself, if its the right thing to do. A great attempt at a self review from someone not quite accustomed to it. Keep it up. An honest poem.