alexandra-balevre - Hello Poetry

Temptation red as Carmine Tears as thick as cerulean And here lies I shedding to your core Vivid gradients expressing What I need is more. Such a strange contravene What dwells inside never dares to be seen Mellow yellow daydreams remind me of the laughter But vivid gradients expressing What I yearn for is thereafter. Melancholy rests on mahogany busts And just like brights, present turns to rust How a beating flame disintegrates from the folds of my clutch Vivid gradients fade And submit to touch.

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Oct 20, 2018

Oct 20, 2018 at 7:41 PM UTC

Vivid Gradients

Temptation red as Carmine Tears as thick as cerulean And here lies I shedding to your core Vivid gradients expressing What I need is more. Such a strange contravene What dwells inside never dares to be seen Mellow yellow daydreams remind me of the laughter But vivid gradients expressing What I yearn for is thereafter. Melancholy rests on mahogany busts And just like brights, present turns to rust How a beating flame disintegrates from the folds of my clutch Vivid gradients fade And submit to touch.

15

And the Marksman said, "Aim for the heart, and not for the brow, A punctured heart always heals somehow." Through perjury Through injury The sting of treason Rotates seasons.

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Oct 20, 2018

Oct 20, 2018 at 2:18 PM UTC

Marksman

And the Marksman said, "Aim for the heart, and not for the brow, A punctured heart always heals somehow." Through perjury Through injury The sting of treason Rotates seasons.

7

I'll never forget The Day the Heavens rejoiced And we became one.

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Apr 19, 2016

Apr 19, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC

11

I'll never forget The Day the Heavens rejoiced And we became one.

3

a story is a story a poem is a poem a plot is a plot a thought is a thought. a letter is a letter as a word is a word. a sentence is a sentence logical or absurd. a language is a language a book is a book a thought is a thought so let it be known before our impending rot.

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Apr 12, 2016

Apr 12, 2016 at 1:31 PM UTC

Expression

a story is a story a poem is a poem a plot is a plot a thought is a thought. a letter is a letter as a word is a word. a sentence is a sentence logical or absurd. a language is a language a book is a book a thought is a thought so let it be known before our impending rot.

13

You're a pair of fishnets kept together by safety pins A 4 A.M. dream that takes its previous time A waste of a waste of your own medicine Sure,I meant what I said, And I do ever so apologize. But , to love me is to love yourself in return.

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Apr 12, 2016

Apr 12, 2016 at 12:44 PM UTC

A Fool I Once Fooled

You're a pair of fishnets kept together by safety pins A 4 A.M. dream that takes its previous time A waste of a waste of your own medicine Sure,I meant what I said, And I do ever so apologize. But , to love me is to love yourself in return.

6

the man on the roof was a fool of which those around me concur doing nothing at all causing nothing less than an unending stir so i walked on by as my mind remained dry from the corner of my eye i realized. the Man on the Roof was I and my self-understanding had died.

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Apr 12, 2016

Apr 12, 2016 at 12:43 PM UTC

the man on the roof

the man on the roof was a fool of which those around me concur doing nothing at all causing nothing less than an unending stir so i walked on by as my mind remained dry from the corner of my eye i realized. the Man on the Roof was I and my self-understanding had died.

10

A Cinderella Story That even Dickinson could not tell The repertoire that is my body Slowly collapsing-- As the grave birds alarm for arrival. I speak to someone that is no one For strength and guidance within. Yet anticipated signs only result-- In disappointing strains. Those demons, they say, They fill us with fear. Silhouetting us with cloaks That haven’t a beginning nor end. They are made from our troubles-- Our hardships, our pain. We know where they come from But will never know their names. What to do is to ignite Burn the bridges, light the night. As Cinderella did in that baby blue dress, We’ll be alright.

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Mar 16, 2016

Mar 16, 2016 at 12:16 PM UTC

Untitled

A Cinderella Story That even Dickinson could not tell The repertoire that is my body Slowly collapsing-- As the grave birds alarm for arrival. I speak to someone that is no one For strength and guidance within. Yet anticipated signs only result-- In disappointing strains. Those demons, they say, They fill us with fear. Silhouetting us with cloaks That haven’t a beginning nor end. They are made from our troubles-- Our hardships, our pain. We know where they come from But will never know their names. What to do is to ignite Burn the bridges, light the night. As Cinderella did in that baby blue dress, We’ll be alright.

21