And asked of me
What I thought
of my first love
and i said
oh my god i did love
and yet how i hate
I was asked of my second
again i did love and hate
not like the first
and not with such haste
not was my third
much like my first
still filled with love
not such with hate
but not with
that thirst...
that passion insane
that drove me
blame all of them
know in my heart
its not one of them
ever kept us apart
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 12:52 AM UTC
with plans to scale my walls
you build your little ladder
for just a glimse inside
as if that would matter
when you get see over
will you be over it
so that we can just move on
and get past all that ****
its you i think im into
its you i want see
but you just dont see things
the way I want to see
you will never see it
this will never be
while you keep on thinking
of things youd like to be
theres just a small space
of time for us win
that just wont happen
if you dont let me in
oh so concerned about
breakin down my walls
was the whole **** reason
there was never us at all
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 9:23 AM UTC
Every morning,
even being very old,
(or perhaps because of it),
I like to make my bed.
In fact, the starting of each day
unhelplessly,
is the biggest thing I ever do.
I smooth away the dreams disclosed by tangled sheets,
I smack the dented pillow’s revelations to oblivion,
I finish with the pattern of the spread exactly centered.
The night is won.
And now the day can open.
All this I like to do,
mastering the making of my bed
with hands that trust beginnings.
All this I need to do,
directed by the silent message
of the luxury of my breathing.
And every night,
I like to fold the covers back,
and get in bed,
and live the dark, wise poetry of the night’s dreaming,
dreading the extent of its improbabilities,
but surrendering to the truth it knows and I do not;
even though its technicolor cruelties,
or the music of its myths,
feels like someone else’s experience,
not mine.
I know that I could no more cease
to want to make my bed each morning,
and fold the covers back at night,
than I could cease
to want to put one foot before the other.
Being very old and so because of it,
all this I am compelled to do,
day after day,
night after night,
directed by the silent message
of the constancy of my breathing,
that bears the news I am alive.
A peom by Peggy Freydberg
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 8:03 AM UTC
Its so safe here
in these words I craft
made up just the way
I'd like them to be
Secure and aligned
in the perfect little rows
I can be my self here
let break the ebb and flow
the emotions coursing through me
I am control
I am my own judgement
I am free
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 12:11 PM UTC
Silly little brain...
you try so hard
up there in your little fortress
behind your silly little eyes
to see what those eyes see
Silly little brain....
you can't feel
hands so far from you
feeling what you want to feel
So how do you love
when your heart just beats away?
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 7:14 PM UTC
I saw you trying to peek in
Your soft light sweeping where
You didn't see me
Doesnt mean I that I'm not there
I saw in your eyes; bright.
Not blinding like the sun
but warm like a candle
in the darkness of the night
Should have let you find me
I should have cried out
But I hid inside my darkness
So no one else could see
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 10:29 AM UTC
want to change my way of living
want to change my way of life
want to keep on like I'm giving
want to not feel the strife
have to keep on like Im living
have to keep on with the strife
have to keep on like Im giving
have to keep on this way of life
need to keep on like Im giving
need to keep on with this strife
need to keep on like Im living
Need to keep on with this Life
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 3:02 AM UTC
Found deep within the darkness
Hidden in the depths of one's own soul
Only comes to light
When my soul's found grown and old
Truth is the well being
That love might just unfold
Love might be the answer
The future so untold
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 3:54 PM UTC