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 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.
There used to be a bottle on the wall. It was very green. I'm sure it was the loneliest green bottle that I had ever seen It used to sit on the wall all day and all night And every day, when I looked out of the window, it was always in my line of sight Then one day, a cat came along. Something was going to happen; I could tell The cat then accidentally nudged it and off the wall, it fell When it had fallen off the wall it had dropped with a very loud sound. There were all these little pieces of the green bottle all over the ground Then the cat yelped and I knew it had gotten hurt I could quite obviously see its paws were caked in blood and dirt The bottle wasn't harmful in the beginning it did not look the slightest bit treacherous but after a nudge in the wrong direction it became very dangerous Now I look back at you smiling next to me on the big armchair Your fingers running through your soft locks of hair. You remind me a lot of that green bottle. In the beginning, you were harmless you were all sorts of fun. Now you hurt me. Could you tell me why as I don't quite know what I've done
Lungs are His cathedrals, on this night A Boeing 737-7 cuts a spotlight between twilight and dream Gods breath carving alveoli with a 10:35 flight across rib bone and destiny It is the curse of existence, trajectory Neither sleep nor sunrise will stabilize me.
What if we silent sit in an empty room and speak without an uttered word? What if unconscious poems well up in us, no trying need there be? What if strands of grass grow and flowers bloom while azure skies and white clouds blow by without a sound be heard? And what if a kiss for one is a kiss for all and our hearts and souls are one without us ever knowing?
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
He was smooth but not understanding He was charming but not loyal He was beautiful but a manipulator I knew this would come to and end I knew I was a fool He was secure but brought my insecurity He was strong inside but not loving He was my first but never mine