I used to read your poems but lately you don't write you're silent and aloof you know that isn't right. You can't close a door once opened you can't abolish all your dreams you're a poet of the heart mustn't fall apart at the seams. Say what you can in words they speak the message true spoken from the heart the poems will see you through. A hermit's not your style a recluse, you are not never give up writing of things that you've been taught. I used to read your poems I'd read them once again if you would send them out (this one's from a poet friend)
I’m buried in a cocoon of stories From poetry, To biographies, To dystopia, And romance So many stories Of so many people Real, Or just figments of the author’s Imagination Sitting atop wooden bookshelves Waiting for the right person, To pick them up And get lost in their story For everyone has a story to tell, Some are overly exaggerated, And other’s are rarely heard The important thing is That we share our stories Through word of mouth, The internet, Or in a notebook To be found by future historians Tell your story Believe me, you won’t regret it
I love him I tell myself I know that We will be together forever I don’t believe that We could be separated My thoughts tell me that He’s the love of my life Sometimes my heart lies and says I could live an eternity Without him Like my friends say “We’re perfect for each other” And you can’t tell me He’s not the one.
I had to let it go because I am not your mother. Your mother is my mother. A painful road to walk. I tried to build you armor from my love, prayed it'd keep you alive. In struggle, there is still beauty, love, and grace. I hoped you'd find it, But "all that blood was never beautiful, it was only just red." I bleed too. I am not your mother. I am your sister. And that is one of my favorite things to be.
They said, "The most beautiful art is looking into someone's eyes when they talk about the things they love." And I said, "Or looking at someone you love. Or maybe, just maybe, by looking at the mirror is the most beautiful art anyone should appreciate."
Appreciation post for myself; for you and for everyone as well. You deserve more than the world has to offer.
Whether a comma, or colon: Punctuation slows my rolling I need no period. When I end no Capitalization when I begin Rulelessly I flow my art Not a single! Exclamation mark Are you not the one Who'll know? Where a question mark No longer goes
Warp the structure Bend the lines Put in repeat Let emotion unwind Make yourself Your poetry's the best Be your own ruler Pass your own test
Take your own road Where ever it leads Lover or hater It's all poetry!
Traveler Tim .
Hay No matter who you are You have my deepest respect!
Vanity All is vanity The meanings of passion The aesthetic expression The lines we draw and stay within Even love is beyond intent Vanity transcends Flowing from our pens And so we breathe again
tears drop from a thousand eyes and wash the sidewalks clean of filth of blood of desperate cries gone silent with the dream darkness lights the alleyways where life is cheap as rust needles lay in greasy puddles rats feed on the crust deeper we fall into nightmares awoken speak not of this if you live in the light there are tears enough for that which is broken just close your eyes and sleep at night
he took me to see the orchestra i watched them while he watched me both with eyes of awe the synchronization of up and down bows commanding emotion and the harp in his chest strummed gently that evening it hadn’t sung the way it sang that evening i leaned towards the stage encapsulated holding my hand he felt a sense of permanence that if i heard the music i’d stay and the pain was worth it and reminding him when it’s good it’s real good
he took me to see the orchestra because i played violin then i dreamt of going back to school to practice more i’d finger the notes under the table at dinner every night and i’d lose track of time and he noticed that and he loved how immersed i could become once i fell in love with something and he wanted not to wade but dive into me
he took me to see the orchestra because he loved the way i wrote then it was complex and he didn’t understand it and it made him discontent with what he knew he appreciated how soothing and real the words felt like running water on a cut it was refreshing cooling and he just wanted me to see what he heard when peering into my vessel and her prose
I release the pressure with love and laughter. I relax in the silence of beauty and bliss. I refuel the soul with daft air, to ever reminisce in cool airs, cool bliss. I remember my family, of our familiar upbringing. The support and the love that was truly healing. I feel graced by empathy with everlasting love, I am fully me in upbringing and trust. I seek this out in the world, to be it while I seek it. Building up a bigger image that helps me live deep within it.