echosfx - Hello Poetry

Like many loveless nights, muted cries and once-lit candles. Luckless wishes of handheld romance. Echoed memories shift my tardy pen on ****** pages. Trysts between hand and heart. How night terrors (or night letters, rather) hold the sun beneath my bed and sketch nightmares in my head "Oh, the hurt when one feels alone. Oh, the pain when one feels, alone." I once self whispered a vow of silence, to keep my penned, ethereal thoughths to myself However, beauty such as this is such as you are such as I am merits lovely words. So i'll write free this beautiful disappointment, and never satisfied love.

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Mar 31, 2018

Mar 31, 2018 at 9:51 AM UTC

echosfx

Midnight Thoughts

Like many loveless nights, muted cries and once-lit candles. Luckless wishes of handheld romance. Echoed memories shift my tardy pen on ****** pages. Trysts between hand and heart. How night terrors (or night letters, rather) hold the sun beneath my bed and sketch nightmares in my head "Oh, the hurt when one feels alone. Oh, the pain when one feels, alone." I once self whispered a vow of silence, to keep my penned, ethereal thoughths to myself However, beauty such as this is such as you are such as I am merits lovely words. So i'll write free this beautiful disappointment, and never satisfied love.

23

my heart nearly stopped every time i had to cross the street so let’s thank the queen for writing it down before she’s just another thing i have to step over all the rest have tickled my feet so far and everything under construction reminds me that these days the only remedy seems to be better luck and more cloud cover i’ve been racing to crash on the couch just to wake up to see if i have time for it all and i want the stereotype to be true so i have nothing to cry about with the way things are going you’d tell me not to be so brutal to myself but the thrill i used to know is now paying its dues to the concrete i was almost convinced i wasn’t asleep when she whispered paris nothing, everything may have changed so this is not like anything i’ve never meant: my heart nearly stopped with the regret of not talking to you it's hard killing birds when you don't have any stones and besides this time i think i've really done it two days and this is already my favorite story but second chances don't have to be so mysterious maybe i just wanted to see you smile again i should have said it w/o one of and the s after the L still choosing o over x and your pull showed my hands a home in the back of your denim two across the channel makes the significant not so, if you want it i’ll keep looking for you so long as you don’t stop drawing me maps if i died in my indecision then your mouth showed me heaven you’re the closest thing to purpose i’ve ever tasted i wish you knew how much i mean that

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echosfx

Mar 30, 2018

Mar 30, 2018 at 9:28 AM UTC

camps

i fell in love with a girl in london and i'd do it all over just to see her smile at me again

my heart nearly stopped every time i had to cross the street so let’s thank the queen for writing it down before she’s just another thing i have to step over all the rest have tickled my feet so far and everything under construction reminds me that these days the only remedy seems to be better luck and more cloud cover i’ve been racing to crash on the couch just to wake up to see if i have time for it all and i want the stereotype to be true so i have nothing to cry about with the way things are going you’d tell me not to be so brutal to myself but the thrill i used to know is now paying its dues to the concrete i was almost convinced i wasn’t asleep when she whispered paris nothing, everything may have changed so this is not like anything i’ve never meant: my heart nearly stopped with the regret of not talking to you it's hard killing birds when you don't have any stones and besides this time i think i've really done it two days and this is already my favorite story but second chances don't have to be so mysterious maybe i just wanted to see you smile again i should have said it w/o one of and the s after the L still choosing o over x and your pull showed my hands a home in the back of your denim two across the channel makes the significant not so, if you want it i’ll keep looking for you so long as you don’t stop drawing me maps if i died in my indecision then your mouth showed me heaven you’re the closest thing to purpose i’ve ever tasted i wish you knew how much i mean that

33

Let not ebony clouds shade the sun from your smile Nor somber nights tuck the wonder-filled stars in your eyes Grip tight these waiting pages Hold close your scribe Find yourself lost and enveloped in this tryst with infinity

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Mar 23, 2018

Mar 23, 2018 at 3:30 AM UTC

echosfx

For J.J.

Let not ebony clouds shade the sun from your smile Nor somber nights tuck the wonder-filled stars in your eyes Grip tight these waiting pages Hold close your scribe Find yourself lost and enveloped in this tryst with infinity

5

And if you are to love, Love as the moon loves. It doesn't steal the night, It only unveils the beauty of the dark. And if you are to love, Love as the rain loves. It doesn't wet the bodies, It only washes the sad dirt of the souls. And if you are to love, Love as the wind loves. It doesn't drift away, It only cleanse you to the core by invading through each pore. And if you are to love, Love as the sun loves. It doesn't radiates heat, It only pours its warmth on you to enlighten your way. And if you are to love, Love as the star loves. It doesn't delightfully twinkles, It only reminds you that not even death can separate two hearts. And so forth, if you are to love Love as the whole universe & not just a part of it.

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echosfx

Mar 21, 2018

Mar 21, 2018 at 6:28 AM UTC

Jasleenkalra18

And if you are to love.

And if you are to love, Love as the moon loves. It doesn't steal the night, It only unveils the beauty of the dark. And if you are to love, Love as the rain loves. It doesn't wet the bodies, It only washes the sad dirt of the souls. And if you are to love, Love as the wind loves. It doesn't drift away, It only cleanse you to the core by invading through each pore. And if you are to love, Love as the sun loves. It doesn't radiates heat, It only pours its warmth on you to enlighten your way. And if you are to love, Love as the star loves. It doesn't delightfully twinkles, It only reminds you that not even death can separate two hearts. And so forth, if you are to love Love as the whole universe & not just a part of it.

24

There's something about rainy days that bring me such joy; My dear, it reminds me of you. And coffee makes it that much more comfortable. The warmth of each taste reminds me of your lips. Oh, the way the soft mist from the rain reaches my somber face. Every evanescent touch you'd caress me with. I'll pull my cup close, if only to keep it safe. How your hands, like a cage, kept me. There's something about a cup of coffee and the rain. My dear, it's the most bittersweet memories I cherish.

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Feb 20, 2018

Feb 20, 2018 at 4:19 PM UTC

echosfx

Coffee and Rain

There's something about rainy days that bring me such joy; My dear, it reminds me of you. And coffee makes it that much more comfortable. The warmth of each taste reminds me of your lips. Oh, the way the soft mist from the rain reaches my somber face. Every evanescent touch you'd caress me with. I'll pull my cup close, if only to keep it safe. How your hands, like a cage, kept me. There's something about a cup of coffee and the rain. My dear, it's the most bittersweet memories I cherish.

10

my fingers around the mug i imagine your neck steam fogs over my glasses i imagine your breath heat rushes to my face i imagine your warmth a sip of hot green tea i imagine your lips all these mingling with mine whenever i drink a cup of you

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echosfx

Feb 17, 2018

Feb 17, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC

lunar-love

a cup of you

my fingers around the mug i imagine your neck steam fogs over my glasses i imagine your breath heat rushes to my face i imagine your warmth a sip of hot green tea i imagine your lips all these mingling with mine whenever i drink a cup of you

11

I'm not a poet. But if I were, i'd probably be a nocturnal one and i'd write about how on most nights my tongue is a tombstone, my throat a grave filled with regret, and my voice is each grunt and whine I give my timed reflection as I avoid every mirror because I can't stand looking at myself...i'd tell... I'd tell people that my depression is an ocean. Within it's waves, high and low...slowly but surely blanketing over me...dragging any broken and lost pieces of my happiness back into itself, resetting the sand that is my skin so tomorrow you can't see the holes that were there. Yeah. I'm not a poet. But maybe if I were, i'd write a song about her. It would tell a story about how on days when the sun blinks and everything around me is grey; and the world is stained with my fears...she. is. the honey-warm scent after a summer rain, an evening primose before the tempest, and the quiet cerulean air in an earthquake... she's...every hue of a pacific sunset. I'd sing about how she was the moments between each tide that kept me warm; how she was the sun that fed the daisies in my throat reminding me that life is possible. I'm no poet. But if I were then this paper would be the towel I dried my heart with, the words would be all the unspoken dreams of my insomnia, and the pen was the blade used to cut this heart so I could bleed my everything to you...I swear. If I were a poet, i'd whisper every vowel i've been given that completes me into stardust. Sprinkled into the cosmos to someday create a world where the ocean never raged. A world where there were just enough clouds and no earthquakes...then again...where's the poetry in that?

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Feb 4, 2018

Feb 4, 2018 at 6:25 PM UTC

echosfx

If I were a poet.

I'm not a poet. But if I were, i'd probably be a nocturnal one and i'd write about how on most nights my tongue is a tombstone, my throat a grave filled with regret, and my voice is each grunt and whine I give my timed reflection as I avoid every mirror because I can't stand looking at myself...i'd tell... I'd tell people that my depression is an ocean. Within it's waves, high and low...slowly but surely blanketing over me...dragging any broken and lost pieces of my happiness back into itself, resetting the sand that is my skin so tomorrow you can't see the holes that were there. Yeah. I'm not a poet. But maybe if I were, i'd write a song about her. It would tell a story about how on days when the sun blinks and everything around me is grey; and the world is stained with my fears...she. is. the honey-warm scent after a summer rain, an evening primose before the tempest, and the quiet cerulean air in an earthquake... she's...every hue of a pacific sunset. I'd sing about how she was the moments between each tide that kept me warm; how she was the sun that fed the daisies in my throat reminding me that life is possible. I'm no poet. But if I were then this paper would be the towel I dried my heart with, the words would be all the unspoken dreams of my insomnia, and the pen was the blade used to cut this heart so I could bleed my everything to you...I swear. If I were a poet, i'd whisper every vowel i've been given that completes me into stardust. Sprinkled into the cosmos to someday create a world where the ocean never raged. A world where there were just enough clouds and no earthquakes...then again...where's the poetry in that?

17