cassy-hamilton
English
Hello! I'm currently a University student studying Drama and English Literature, living in England. I've always had a thing for poetry since a young age, whether it be reading or writing (or scrutinizing it!) and I often like to have a go at writing some in my spare time. I rarely ever let my friends and others in real life see my work, it always feels kinda private, you know? But I figured a poetry website won't hurt too much for a bit of practice! :)
When you find a man
Who transforms
Every part of you
Into poetry,
Who makes each one of your hairs
Into a poem,
When you find a man,
Capable,
As I am
Of bathing and adorning you
With poetry,
I will beg you
To follow him without hesitation,
It is not important
That you belong to me or him
But that you belong to poetry.
Jun 28, 2011
Jun 28, 2011 at 2:50 PM UTC
Thank God for the darkness,
The thing that hides the horror of the daytime,
Conceals the truths of our night time,
Forbids passers by from seeing her cry
As she, swiftly, paces down the hill,
The moon smiling at her, guiding her home,
Like an old friend.
The only one she could rely on.
The gentle breeze strokes her cheek with a sigh,
It feels the tears that lie there.
No one can see her sadness.
Thank God for the darkness,
It lets us see the beauty in the black,
While hiding one's depair,
Until the morning comes,
And life would seem as normal,
Though within the shadows of her soul
The hole burns ever bigger,
For nothing and no one has stepped forward to save it.
She is alone, and she always is,
Unless it be in the darkness - when, to the eye,
It seems she is at one with everything else.
Thank God for the Darkness.
Jun 18, 2011
Jun 18, 2011 at 2:50 PM UTC
In my dreams they say “San Francisco,"
That’s where I should go.
But what’s for me in San Francisco?
That’s what I’d like to know.
I’d take a road trip north, I guess,
And visit the Golden Gate.
Or visit the walls of Alcatraz,
But maybe that could wait.
Should I wear flowers in my hair,
When I go to San Francisco?
Or should I tread without a care,
Or maybe I just won’t go.
For there are other places waiting for me,
A different sun.
A different sea.
And many of these places I’m soon to go.
But for now, they’re not San Francisco.
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 2:07 PM UTC
The warm is cold to her,
Like the night darkens out the sun,
Rather than the sun driving the night away.
It is not that she is a pessimist, no.
Her optimism is to blame.
Like the glint in the eye of a charmer who
At first glance promises you the world and you,
Willingly, go with him
Believing the world will be yours,
Only to find him a liar
And the world doesn’t need you.
May 29, 2011
May 29, 2011 at 2:34 PM UTC