When the stars cried
And bled a trail of luminous dust
Was it your heart that followed
It's flawed path
Or were it my eyes
That tried to see what was naught
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 8:52 AM UTC
Let me paint a picture
With your body the canvas my tongue the brush
It will be a masterpiece
On these I'll never rush
Picasso or Rembrandt
will have nothing on me
Cause when we get together
I'll paint a tapestry
I'll sculpt a love out of clay
Made with hands of desire
And when it's done into the kiln it'll go
Stoked with passions fire
A poem I will write
As deep as oceans blue
It will be a tale of love
one about me and you
I would conduct a symphony
Music to your ears
I'll always be here to protect you
From your darkest fears
And when the angels come to take me home
When my time is through
I'll be the artist up in heaven
Painting in nothing but blue
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 4:03 PM UTC
My mirror hangs stoic,
as silently it absorbs all it could with unbiased eyes.
All it receives under the day's sun.
Yet it never stores...
Not memories recent...
Not images perceived from the distant past...
My mirror
exists in the now.
It gives me only the present.
It reveals unequivocally the ground
upon which I stand.
It divulges only in the brutal and honest truth.
The kind of truth photographs could never tell.
Today it showed me what I've been seeing
with eyes half shut.
It showed me that,
I am older now.
Older than I was yesterday.
Older than I was a second ago.
Every wrinkle told a silent tale.
Every tale left quiet scars.
Every scar sang requiems of past mistakes.
And every mistake costed me my youth.
My mirror showed me that...
I'm older now because I've learnt much.
And I'm learning much more
because I'm older now.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
We caused the death of another human
Oh , and they want us to feel remorse
But we're burning like the fire torches
Our only answers being slamming doors
We fought the fight on the wrong side
Who is to say what's right over here
The streets had been torn long before war
But we'd rather blame the stranger than the one near
We are the whispers of heartlessness
But my dear, you don't even know true dark
Our sleep has been disturbed too
But we know we've made our mark
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 10:04 PM UTC
Some where amidst
Sanity and insanity,
Some where amidst
Agony and ecstacy,
Some where amidst
Canyons and alps,
Some where amidst
Dusk and dawn,
Some where amidst
Fantasy and reality,
Some where amidst
Spring and summer,
Some where amidst
Autumn and winter,
Some where amidst
Sun and Moon,
Some where amidst
Mercury and Venus,
Some where amidst
Earth and Mars,
Some where amidst
Jupiter and Saturn,
Some where amidst
Uranus and Neptune,
Some where amidst
Pluto and the unkown
Dwells a Lonely poets soul.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 2:52 PM UTC
And we walked every step,
Every step till the light of the sun was turning pink
We walked a road that held no answers
But desperate questions needed at least a quest.
We sang songs, both dire and calm
Only to keep our feet moving
We walked on a road that had seen no games
But a still heart could at least hope.
Our eyes were sore even with sights of delight
A stubborn heart didn't bother for it
We walked a road that was a dead end
But strong hands would always lay more bricks.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 7:41 PM UTC
The hours disappear instantly like blown out
flames off weary candles.
But time is no match for such raging hearts.
We would still hold up the receding
indigo ceiling above us.
We would prop up the sullen moon to stave
off the dawning day.
We will clutch the dwindling stars
and hug them close to our chests.
Because we know the words too well.
Words we simply couldn't cage except to say that...
*We are not yet ready to leave
but we look forward to
diving headlong into
the inevitable restart.*
Just so the day could grant us a
slate brand new.
Just so that come night,
we could begin all over again.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 7:08 PM UTC
precious innocent soul
skipping rocks
on cobblestone roads
vulnerable untarnished pure
no residue of earthly soil
return me to that naiveté
unburdened by layers
of fake masks
and perfect capped teeth
in narcissistic societies
but I shan’t grasp
at ethereal edges
of nebulousness
and ephemeral
innocence
i shall endure
what I abhor
a master’s soul
cannot be forged
in paradise
wisdom’s essence
‘tis not pristine white
hints of ivory
tinge the effervescence
of the sage’s breath
©2016janetaylor
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 5:11 PM UTC
There, beyond the misty haze
And over sighing plains
The patterns of a cracked decay
Played with the pieces
Of charred strings
Of a puppet heart
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 2:25 PM UTC