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.
Help me, My heart has become so heavy My thoughts have been clouded by thick hurt My past has found my safe haven And my life has become distant from living Help me please. I’m tired and frail Unable to feel, unable to care Hate and ignorance has filled my cup And no longer am I allowed to be sober Help me please, I’m scared, My tears have changed No longer can I see them, but feel them everyday Running down my breast I feel the filling up of my belly But no feeding has been done Help me I beg of you I am giving up Loosing my bet I made with my shadow I don’t want to die But I can’t find any other comfort to rely on
A fool for love and for requite, her golden brown mane his fingers in tight, souls were touched in the night's quiet, his tears roll a lane her fingers in respite, lover's etching their love, sonnets they live sonnets they write, her golden brown mane his fingers in tight, then they sleep.
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
Tonight I hugged an angel And it made my night As she looked me in the eyes And held me real tight I sang to her a song And I saw her dance As her stunning beauty Had me in a trance Tonight I met an angel And she made me so happy Tonight I was in heaven Because she talked to me
Lily pollens glow rain of tears drops though it rained petals glow lily gleam and glow through it reverses time night crickets chitter in joy clock hand reverse twelve midnight bell rings willow leaves raddle like reindeer bells pasture sound chitters and shallow river flow down the stream fast the wind made tree leaves raddle so quick time stopped beneath my feet.