william-p-markwalder
American
I'm an author. I've written two books so far and two more in progress. I also write poetry. I love reading and listening to music at the same time, as well as writing and listening to music. I enjoy swimming and working with my hands. I've got over ten years of experience working on computers from building, upgrading, networking, and installing software on them.
Apples that turn brown have gone to long with out the joy of being tasted
Bananas that turn brown can still be tasty as a bread
Love that turns brown is covered in chocolate
Brown isn't bad, it's just misunderstood
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 11:09 AM UTC
I have a small bed
It doesn't bother me
It's cozy and treats me well
Most would see it as too small
They would get rid of it
To get a bigger bed
I like my small bed
Because when she's over
She has to cuddle in nice and close
So I'll keep my small bed
Because it treats me well
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 2:46 AM UTC
What are you laughing about
She ask when I look at her
Do you want to take a nap
She ask when I'm still tired
Can you rub my back
Such a simple request
What is it you see in my eyes
Innocents with small hits of coy
Why do you say you're evil
It's easier then being nice
I can hear your heart
She says with her head on my chest
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
A silver tongue is owned by one whom speaks
with a way to ensnare those who listen.
I myself have silver fingers.
Though it is true my words could be spoken,
more power is applied to them written.
With silver fingers my words ensnare the mind
of the reader.
Pulling them into the worlds I have created.
Drawing forth the very emotions that I so desire
the reader to feel.
Though a silver tongue is powerful to those that
can hear it, silver fingers are powerful to all
that read the words created.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
This was requested by a fiery flower
A poem that surrounds the petals
To envelope and captivate
While drawing up images within the mind
A simple thought, a simple desire
To bring about a work brought from the depths
Though this is easier said then done
A simple request made by a fiery flower
A request for words to paint upon the canvas
But while some can pull forth from the ether
This can be more of a trek for me
From the point of desired which angle to go with
To how long it should be
And so, as requested by a fiery flower
Here is the end result.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
Heated, beaten, burned, abused
In this forge this all happens.
With such powerful trials,
the weak is eliminated leaving the strong.
In this forge pain is replaced by strength,
sorrow by solace, and wounds with scars.
For as all that brings us these, a better
form grows within.
In this forge, the constant, rhythmic beating
keeps as a reminder that so long as it burns,
we grow stronger.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
There used to be a time when she couldn’t get enough of my touch
Now she would rather feel the embrace of a cactus
When did she stop loving me?
There used to be a time when she loved to read what I wrote
Now she makes excuses to why she doesn’t read my words at all
When did she stop loving me?
There was a time she used to love to cuddle in bed
Now she wants it all and I sleep on the floor
When did she stop loving me?
She used to listen to my concerns, and trust my feelings
Now she ignores how I feel and condemns my concerns
When did she stop loving me?
She used to be scared of losing me so I promised I would not leave
Now I feel that it will only take one bad day before she tells me to go
When did she stop loving me?
I used to give her unconditional love and it confused her
Now she gives me unconditional hate and it confuses me
When did she stop loving me?
She used to have days where she smiled at me
Now there are days where she cusses me
When did she stop loving me?
I’ve written her lovely poems before
But now I’ve written this one
When did she stop loving me?
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 9:24 AM UTC
Within this world of twisted thorns,
there is a hidden beauty.
Of the tangled tendrils that weave a web of pain,
there is a beauty.
Without a path laid out with suffering,
we can not see the Hidden Beauty.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 12:17 AM UTC
Her lips... angry with the hue of death
And even though I should not indulge
Her lips did beckon me so
To feel them once more upon my own
Just as they used to be whence warm
Her lips did beckon me so
In my heart I knew it not proper or right
But she would be taken from my vision
Her lips did beckon me so
And so I did indulge
In one last kiss
Her lips did beckon me so
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 3:36 PM UTC
The flames creep up upon me
My mind surrounded my soul tormented
With in the fire I am now
Feeling it caress my body
Burning away the old.
A new feeling comes over me as a pain is felt in my back.
Something is there fighting to break free of the flesh.
The pain is unbearable for me.
I fall to the ground screaming in agony as they burst forth from my back.
Four large wings with blood red feathers stand ***** on my back
The pain is no longer there.
I stand up as the flames now die down.
My wings now slump down around my shoulders
They lay like a cloaked.
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 4:39 PM UTC