Oh, love.
I revisit the idea of you
over and over.
How you have made my life so much better
and so much worse.

I keep thinking you are the key.
You are the thing keeping me from being happy and
if I finally catch you.
I will be happy.

But I am starting to think that
you have caused more sadness instead.
But maybe that is your purpose?

Maybe the lack of happiness in my life
is something else.

I have lived my life drowning
in fantasies so that I could hide from
the world.

Now that I’ve come back to this world and
tried to enjoy what it has to offer me.
I can’t help but roll my eyes of boredom.
A poem by me.
A static feeling of un-enthusiasm  
and standard pleasantries.

this world isn’t the same
as the one that goes inside my head.

That one is filled with adventure
and promise.

I crave something with meaning.

But the closest I can get is my writing
and re-enacting stories already told.

I'm struggling to find purpose and meaning
I wonder if I will
I wonder.
Worldview by Stephen C. Shilling
A field of colors laid before our eyes.
This serene countryside
filled with so many new possibilities.

Happiness filled our hearts.
He turned to me and looked at me with those hazel eyes
that enchanted me so long ago and said,

"Sometimes you will get the chance to see a landscape so simple, yet so alluring and filled with beauty,
that it fills you with such a sense of hope."

"The fields of flowers filled with bashful greens
flaming with different shades of reds and pinks
working in harmony with the sun's rays."

"It makes you think that this world is precious,
and our future will be golden."
He grabbed my hand and smiled,
and pulled me towards our field of hope.
This poem is inspired by a painting
~In Poppyland (Poppy Field)
John Ottis Adams~
Thank you for reading! Have a nice day
Darkness take me into your beautiful arms
Lay me to rest, tuck me in as a mother would.
Kiss my forehead and whisper to me a false sense of hope.

Let your lies curl up around me like a blanket
that keeps me warm.
It is so cold outside. Don’t let me be cold.

Throw more lumber into the fire, please.
Do not let it go out.
I’m not sure what you would do if all the light would go out.

I’m not sure if I can trust you;
however, you’re all I have
and it’s become so incredibly hard to do it myself.

It’s growing dark.
My lips are trembling, my teeth chattering.
Would you please put more lumber into the fire?
I wrote this today. Have a nice day!
Frigid winds pushed up against my car,
and then I saw you come inside.
Those chestnut eyes
that had been gone for so long.
My enraged thoughts
were quickly unraveled
because just a simple moment with you
was worth a thousand days.

But, the feelings didn't last very long.

The car swiftly became a space filled
with words that were never said
and words that would always be dismaying.
All I wanted was to understand
but that wasn't a part of your plan.

I wanted you to come back for more
then just an obligatory visit.

Why couldn't you come back?

For now, though, we'll drive to my house
filled with laughter and lies.

See? I'm smiling.
We're doing fine.
This was a poem I wrote a very long time ago but I could never post because I tried submitting it somewhere and it took months for them to get back to me. I was rejected but now I have the chance to post it here. I hope you enjoy it.
Am I pretty enough for you little songbird?
I see you and all your friends and how you fly around.
Singing and tweeting your songs of love.
Oh, how I want to be up there with you.

Are my feathers groomed enough?
Is my beak too big or too small
are my legs too long or too short?
Are my eyes as pretty as yours?

Oh, look at my wings!
I’ve been working on them so hard.
You see I’ve cut back on the worms,
but they still aren’t where I want them to be.

But soon I'll be pretty,
Soon I will soar,
Soon I’ll be loved,
and soon I shall be
a pretty little *** Songbird too.
Oh, *** Songbirds, how I can't wait to be one of you.
Love Love Love
Is that all I care about?
The love love love
That’s all I want.

But if you don’t give me the right kind of love
I won’t love you.
If you give it to me too soon
I’ll run.
If you give it to me too late
I’ll hate you.

It seems all I know is the embrace of ***
the ****, and the passion of getting off.
That’s all. Will I ever know anything else?
Why is this all I focus on?

Maybe I’m scared of my other thoughts
Maybe they are more terrifying
Maybe they’ll go away if I find someone to love me
Love Love Love

You are all I have left to look for.
Is that all I care about?
Next page