The achingly luminous sun both sets and rises,
gliding through the endless sapphire sky
trailing behind a stream of misfit colors
surpassing and lighting every cloud passed by.
The darkest of clouds are filled with dead dreams,
holding sorrow is what it seems.
But each droplet of pouring rain
is a single thriving dream
falling down to earth's asphalt lanes
nurturing the plants and feeding every stream.
The sky is but a still gray sea.
All of the glorious colors of the universe,
the liveliness of everything be,
are being ****** into each individual rain drop,
in reverse.
In the dusk of the night,
the sun but glances at the moon.
Interchangeably lighting the earth and its sight,
illuminating the magnificent butterflies
as they burst from each cocoon.
What you call night, is someone else's day.
Somewhere perhaps greater,
where the promised lands lay.
On only the rarest of evenings,
the sun and moon meet.
Everyone stops their grievings,
they align perfectly neat.
The world is at a pause.
All of the colors from the world bleed.
Draining from the life and laws,
reaching every seed.
These moments are svelte
and never last
just like the feeling of love I have felt
which always seems be in my past.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where:
For so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak,
I found the arrow still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
every love song i listen to is always dedicated to you
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
the tides ebb and flow,
just as the love and the loss
I have gotten to know.
the gentle undercurrents drift me away,
leaving behind but a message in a blood stained bottle
which will forever stay.
the arid breeze alifts me
oh so swiftly
allowing me to rise and flutter
along with the haunting echoes of explorers lost at sea
whom discretely mutter
their undiscovered truths
which will forever be.
a mist of adventure and wonder
combined with subtle hints of salt
trails behind me.
like a shattering cry for help
in an empty, foreign sea.
oh how I wish you could come.
please come, come with me.
you are my muse,
you are my scarlet stained sky at dawn.
the mockingbird that pecks melodious blues,
about why she is forever gone.
You are my breaths,
you are my forever waning moon.
my lunar love,
the tsunami who withstands
my unbearable monsoon.
the sea is but a pool of tears
cried by the lonely , and the morning dew.
you give the ocean competition,
a reason to stay blue.
take me away-
I want to go with you.
teach me how to breathe
within rhythm of the rhapsody
of the measureless sea.
some sway with the wind
I choose to fight the tides
show me where the winds go
when they clash side by side.
never ever forget
what it's like to feel alive
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 10:14 AM UTC
I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.
it was the first time I'd
realized
that.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
I wish I could fly
Up to the sky
So that when I cry
My tears and my pain
Will blend with the rain
Then no one will know
I’m dying so slow
I’ll lie on a cloud
And fade away.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 6:15 AM UTC
Here comes the Anxietea.
Best
Gulp
It
down.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
Poetry is the voice chattering in my head...
Never lets up... It is the voice for when I'm afraid...
Conjured up from deep looping thoughts...
Vented out through written words when the voice could not.
Necessity forged by the mind and heart.
Feelings and emotions that the core wouldn't carelessly discard.
Poetry is an outlet of sorts, tentatively I can afford.
In this realm, the pen be my sword.
Poetry is everything... Beauty spanning multiple universes...
All we do is try to have it harnessed and channelled into individual artful verses...
An outlet, escape, my hole in the wall,
where I can hide from the Hell in my heart.
You're learning to walk, I'm just trying to crawl
beneath the flak; as it once tore me apart.
I've got my demons, how about you?
Faceless legions strung through my soul;
with ink and paper, they often bleed through
From lines and verses, I regain some control.
So, if you're asking me what poetry means
I won't say much, but I'll show you my scars.
Words and rhymes slash stitches and seams,
but in my unraveling, I see shooting stars.
My escape from the world
A distraction from myself
Instead of a mark on my body
I place a mark upon paper
I watch the ink flow from the pen
Happy that it's black
And not red
It bleeds into the crinkled paper
Mapping out the story
The story of my life so far
I don't think
I just write
Emptying my mind
My messed up mind
But the mess will never truly be gone
Just temporary relief
This is my relief
Poetry doesn't mean something,
Poetry is telling somebody who knows the truth, a lie and making them believe you anyways.
The air I breathe, the life I lead, everything I believe, poetry
The truest, permanent written form, at its finest
Even if it doesn't rhyme, every word is still the dearest
It's my relief from anxiety, my calm when I'm panicking
It's a sight for sore eyes when I wake up with a hangover and a headache
The only way I can express myself, show my deepest heartache
The only happiness I have when I'm depressed, my only friend when I'm lonely
My poetry and yours, day in and day out, is like oxygen to me
I can't breathe without poetry
A poet sees rivers where veins
run, caged birds where hearts
beat against ribs, stellar explo-
sions in place of emotion.
To be a poet means to breathe
through your eyes, to find life
in the weeds suffocating your
lungs, to build an ocean
of metaphors and memories,
never knowing which is which.
Poetry is art in itself
It is our passion that is slowly dying out throughout humanity
Because humanity is slowly forgetting what makes us human
What we survive on and die for everyday
But not us poets...
Our poetry is the chain to what we are
What we fought for all these years
What we die for trying to protect
For poetry is our mortality
Poetry is our life.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
A shattered beauty, yet a persistent and unremitting record my love for you spins,
I try to get you off my mind but Cupid always wins.
Every corner I turn, every decision I make,
Is based upon the passionate devotion my trembling soul shall eternally contain; you for God's sake!
It greets me every morn, and lulls me every night.
It's why my skin radiates a peaceful glow,
and my eyes are filled with once lost, lustrous light.
Dependent on circumstances of you perhaps is true.
But you are the fuel that beats my heart, my only purpose is you!
My angelic hope; a fragile yet an aesthetic ray is simply the way you shine.
Can you forever please be none the less but mine?
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC