I'm not a poet, i just pretend to be.
i string some words in a line
to make you understand the impact of my empathy.
to give you a sense of security, ambiguity
that manifests the power that only creativity can make you see.
this diction means only what you want it to
but you have to look inside yourself
to find that certain thing you really want to do.
Never limit where your mind can go.
don't give power to your hesitation
fuel imagination in a world of gray.
its the causation that gives you augmentation.
don't settle for simple non fiction
when the world can give you pure affliction
embrace it.
cause its that pain that makes you grow and
see the best in every situation.
its those vicarious moments that help to keep you on your feet.
you should never have to choose between
the person who they want to see and
who you truly want to be.
i know you but you don't know me.
yet...
i've tried to be a thousand people in the time i've been alive.
the most important thing i've learned is that it pays to be yourself.
when everybody else seems to have their whole life figured out,
its hard to focus on what counts
when self-created clouds of doubt begin to shroud
the one thing you're allowed to be proud of and that thing is yourself.
i'm certainly not in the position to provide a dictionary definition
of overcoming opposition.
but my first hand admonition
is to have full faith in your own ambitions.
you have these dreams for a reason.
C Alexander Blum
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
You leave me wandering for days
In my head as to who it is
You really are.
What intentions you must have...
Or must have buried.
You're like an incomplete thought,
Suspended in the air
Ready to be had.
You make me wonder how fast one must run to be free from one's own chains.
Frustrating, isn't it?
When you have so much time to think and to live but the thought of life confines you.
To turn away from it all would be irresponsible
After all, your problems are petty right?
C Alexander
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC
The clouds are still.
Trees sway below
But as far as they know
The earth is still as well.
They watch from their single point
The cars go by
They hear the noise
Of the people who
May or may not be
Watching them as well.
C. Alexander
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
Your eyes, even when they're closed,
See more than mine, your mind knows
Where mine goes.
The leaves fall soft around your feet
The sun light sends its streaks upon your cheeks
The birds sing as you speak.
Don't pull the curtain down just yet
The stars behind my eyes wont let
This happen.
C. Alexander
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
Would it change anything if I told you,
The sun rises to meet your face and sets
Only when you do?
Would you still walk with your eyes to the ground
If you knew that your voice is the only sound
That I hear when I think of your face?
So just let me ask this,
For I'm curious now,
If I stole a kiss
Would you still have a frown?
C Alexander
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC
A dark night, lit only by snow acting as soft moonlight,
Leaves one feeling the stiff air,
making itself comfortable inside one's bones.
There are no birds here, to delight with their songs.
Nor is there life- the winds pulling it from the leaves which hang so effortlessly on a night in June.
The only sound being of dry, cold air
sweeping through black branches.
With overwhelming tones of emptiness in the air,
It is a wonder that, in a few short months,
the life will be bountiful and the snow
will be missed.
C. Alexander Blum
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 9:46 PM UTC
Those sleepless nights,
Those petty fights,
The look in your eyes
When I held you tight.
How our hands fit so well
When they clasped together
I think of your voice,
But I just don't remember.
I think of your face,
I can see it so clear.
I think of the three words
I once held so near.
I remember your scent,
How your touch was so tender.
But the feelings I felt,
I just don't remember.
C. Alexander Blum
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 9:42 AM UTC
He likes the blue collar,
Pants with the stains.
Comes home from work with black hands and back pains.
There's just something not there, a difference in taste,
Which makes me so different from him.
I'll wash the whites but not white wash a lawn chair.
I'll read a book but I won't shoot a black bear.
I know what I want and I know how to get there,
Not by chopping down trees and developing chest hair,
But by using my mind
And taking the time
To make sure the words at the end of the line rhyme.
C. Alexander Blum
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC