Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Mar 7 Arya
Carson Dees
If you ever feel,
Like you are an accident,
Just close your eyes,
And listen to the birds,
Tweedle-ee, tweedle-oo,
Hear the sway of the leaves,
Shhhhhh... shhhhhh,
Open your eyes,
See the blue sky,
The green grass,
The fresh air,
And remember,
You
Are
Loved.
Wanted.
Do not give up.
Keep pressing on.
I press on for the prize,
For which God has called me heavenward,
In the name of Christ Jesus.

You are never alone.
 Mar 1 Arya
Geof Spavins
Red red wine, Malbec rich and caramel,
In your depths, a world unparalleled,
With hues so dark, and flavours so sweet,
A journey of senses, in every sip we meet.

From vineyards lush, where sunbeams dance,
Your essence captured in a glass, a chance,
To savour the richness, the soft embrace,
Of caramel notes, with each trace.

So, pour the Malbec, let the moments unwind,
In every drop, your story we find,
Red red wine, with your decadent charm,
You warm our hearts, keep us from harm.
 Mar 1 Arya
Geof Spavins
The yin and yang of life, in you is personified,
In love and light, both soft and bright, you stride,
Embracing all that comes within, a heart so free,
Dancing to the tune of dual kin, a soul set free.

Two souls in one, a tender embrace,
The fluid dance of life's sweet grace,
Boundaries blur, the lines dissolve,
In your spectrum of love, we all evolve.

Through night and day, dark and light,
In your gentle sway, we find our flight,
The yin and yang, in life's own way,
In you, bi personified, we sway.

A world in hues of blue and pink,
Where hearts can wander and calmly think,
In your balance, we find our truth,
Yin and yang, in love's own booth.

You are a powerful reminder, rich and multifaceted,
Every person, love, and experience, intricately crafted,
In you, we see the beautiful tapestry of existence,
Embracing every colour with gentle persistence.
 Feb 28 Arya
Imarie
Trust
 Feb 28 Arya
Imarie
No longer fooled by sweet disguise,
She shields her soul from judging eyes.
For trust, once given, now denied,
Leaves only emptiness inside.
 Feb 24 Arya
dead poet
the self
 Feb 24 Arya
dead poet
at the end of the day,
with my illusions at bay,
when bound to obey
a truth so gray —
i travel the depths
with sondering footsteps,
to see if they help
or merely cast a vignette
of eclectic readings,
and years of heeding
the lives preceding;
still bleeding —
like a pair of lips,
torn at the tips
in sorrow’s grips;
hardly equipped —
to deal with ‘the self’
blowing dirt off bookshelves,
too dry to spell  
the thought of oneself.

— The End —