And still I dream of stepping back into yesterday
Where time flowed so freely golden with serenity
We would sit in pine scented grove and sip lemonade
Our talk tranquil as sun dappled creek murmuring in quiet wood
Never arguing or complaining but flooded with blissful reverie
A time bygone and peaceful, learning to know each other again
Listening to the background symphony of cicadas and katydids
Poignantly nostalgic with yearnings of bygone days
Watching velvety dusk deepen into shades of whispering night
Relishing each breeze laden with moss and murmuring pine
Anticipating the dawn awakened by drowsy robins and wood thrush
Skies east to west stained with strawberry hues and dreams renewed
And still I shall dream on
~Hilda~
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
i have a throne made of gold
built it with the lies you told me
it grows taller each day,
and faster each minute
i sit in the clouds now
on this ridiculous golden pedestal
i can never live up to what you think i am
it is everything i'm not
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
I often think of you, even after all this time;
even after I told myself not to.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
And there were no more clouds above my head,
No more drops raining above my bed,
The sky was clear and I could smile again,
But after the storm, I wanted you again
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC
the ones
who make your heart jump
keep those,
and only those,
close to your heart.
all others will turn out to be
the poison
that kills you
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
She was beautiful,
But not in the beautiful ways you like to think so
She did not have hair that dripped gold
Her eyes were not the colours of the cold sea
But her smile was crooked and bent
Her lips were chapped and thin
She did not have a gentle laugh
Nor did she speak humble thoughts
But she was beautiful
In the way the shore kisses my feet
In the way the moon hides itself in the curtain of darkness
She was beautiful
In the way wind dances with hair
In the way shy lovers hold hands
She was beautiful in the way of morning air
And black coffee
And the love poems that live in each broken heart
Spilling red oil into blue lungs,
Suffocating happiness right out of its shell
And she was beautiful
Because she refused to taste sadness
Even though it was the only thing she had left to eat.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC