Hey Pandas, What Is Your Favorite Poem You Wrote? (Closed)

MIST

We splashed in the creek and our clothing was soaking
You caught a chill and I thought we would freeze
So we warmed up each other our bodies cavorting
While the wind danced a waltz with our wet BVD’s

The air was so rich it was making us dizzy
Like the smell of pine needles on the Oregon trail
Now it only remains in my landscape of memories
An image recalled through a soft misty veil

I've posted this before, but here it is:

Strong Alpha

You told me that I’m strong
But maybe you’re wrong
I feel weak
I’m not perfect
Or unique

I wish you were still here
To hold me gently and wipe away my tears
But you’re not
Maybe you were
But you forgot

I’m still searching for you
Hoping that what you said was true
It could be
I’m a strong Alpha
Don’t you agree?

Oh man, I wish I could post it here but unfortunately the thumbdrive it was on got broken. I think it was called The Librarian or something. It was a Gothic poem about a man who lived in a tower and wrote everyone's secrets. I'll try to recreate it from memory:
He knows every secret, the Librarian does.
Every whisper, every confession, every murmur.
He writes them in long scrolls, one for each person, as they are born.
And their lives progress, and these secrets unfold.
He sees all.
He knows all.
He knows your secrets as you whisper them on your deathbed
As you stare into the oncoming night.
He knows you killed her.
He has it written here, see?
He does not care for your emotions.
He merely documents.
Now he climbs a ladder to put your scroll on a shelf.
There will be no more secrets for you now.
He pulls a blank sheet from his piles.
A new life has been born
And he must write her secrets.

I am the breeze on a summer’s day,
With mild temperatures in tow,
Gently blowing leaves astray,
Delivering scents of home.

I am the breeze singing through the trees,
Rustling the lush green fields,
Slipping by largely unseen,
Unnoticed by all but the pinwheel.

But life is fickle, shifting like the mists,
The ocean tide turns twice a day,
The breeze becomes a raging tempest,
The wind picks up, get away, get away.

I am the tempest raging forth,
Destroying homes, ripping trees,
Going on, wanting more,
Impartially dangerous, ignoring pleas,

I am the tempest whipping on,
Urging thunderclouds across the sky,
Causing damage that lasts too long,
Longer than the rampage that ruined lives.

But life is fickle, shifting like the mists,
The ocean tide turns twice a day,
One day I’m a gentle breeze of bliss,
The next I’m a tempest in skies of gray.

Not necessarily my favorite but especially for my earlier poems I think it flows nicely.