So, this isn't really a poem,
More of just a post.
I'm looking for 300 poets,
New or old,
To write a line.
For a 300 poet poem.
I have one so far,
I'm in need of 299 more.

Never may the dream man wake.
He slept so somberly.
I used to think he feared the world,
But now I think I see.
Never may the dream man wake.
His rest is soundless now.
Now, never to see what he was escaping.
I thought I saw the picture, but never could I have foreseen.

Never may the dream man wake.

Sometimes,
I write these when somethings on my mind.
Most times,
I write these when nothings on my mind at all.

I think I fall in love too easily,
Maybe that's why people keep leaving me.
I have a whole box of herbal tea,
That I bought after she left me by our favorite tree.

Oh Liana,
Your name spills from my mouth,
Like classical music in an empty auditorium.
For the room must be empty,
Because if you were here with me you'd notice my affection,
Right?

Never mind, now I know,
You could never be you for you,
You wouldn't even be you for me.
It's not my fault,
But if it isn't, why does it hurt so bad?
You were the one thing I wanted,
You were my one and only dream.
I put you in front of my needs,
I ignored the water rising to my eyes.
I ignored the feeling of my heart dying inside,
Just for you, Liana.
I did everything for you,
You did nothing for me.
I don't blame you,
I know why you couldn't.
But darling please,
When I say I love you could you at least respond to me?

If it’s not love it’s poison,
If it’s not good, then it’s evil.
If you’re not warm, you’re freezing.
And if you leave you’re cruel,
And if you stay clinging on for too long, you are nothing.
So, if it’s not love, it’s poison,
And if you’re not surrounded you’re alone,
And if you're not full you're starved.
If you break you’re nothing,
You’re alone,
So if it’s not love, then it is poison.

The hands on the clock are slender,
Like her fingers,
Who used to weave through mine.

Soft was her voice,
It could grace you like an ocean breeze,
Or it could work like a hurricane,
Make you wish you never left shore.

This new winter snow,
The color of her skin.
Thin as her kiss,
Leaving me warmer than I was before.
These days I find myself missing it more and more.

But she didn't leave,
It was I,
I had to return home,
She didn't beg me to stay, she knew I couldn't.

But I know,
Someday we will find each other again,
And in time, I will remember her kiss.

The wind chimes clink a sweet melody, blown by the soft evening air.
The fire is dying in the hearth as we say our good nights.
Some head out to the porch to listen to the sounds of the night,
Though I and the others head off to bed.
A coyote howls out in the forest, maybe on the cliff I found walking earlier.
My bedside candle is lit as I open my book.
As I read I listen to the calls of the owl, asking “Who is still out there, on this starry, cold, night?”
I blow out the flame and shut my book just as I hear them coming in.
I turn my head on my pillow and slip off into silent slumber.
Wondering what the next dawn will bring.

Slipping soundlessly into sound,
Is the dancer,
Moving in motion so proud.
I regret the times I didn’t see,
The true amazement she could be.
Instead I saw her uncut form,
Raw emotions,
Which I responded to with stabbing thorns.
It wasn't enough that I returned to you,
Bearing a bouquet of apologies.
Because I loved to hold you,
You loved to be held by me,
I needed attention, I thrived on greed.
Now I hold nothing,
Because you left me.
Slipping soundlessly away,
Leaving forever,
Now I remember you as a fading tune.
God I love that song,
Oh, God, I loved you.
Why do I portray your voice,
As a flute,
Silver, portraying tunes.
Nothing more,
We weren't meant to be.
But sometimes I wonder, how do you portray me?

We now have
An army of
Poets with single
Sentences and I
Only need 290
More poets' sentences.

You got your nails done yesterday,
They look so pretty.
Black with white swirls,
Sleek shiny paint.
They're kind of blurry,
Maybe if you help my hand,
I could see them better.

If I knew how,
I'd write music to go along with the words in my poems,
And I turn my poems into songs.

If you lose a poem,
Just the paper you wrote it on.
You haven't lost the poem at all.

They told me,
The kind of person I am, is good.
I asked them if they meant my because of my art,
They simply patted my shoulder, "You're not like them darling."
Who are they,
The people you say are bad?
I saw no one different than me at the showcase,
We were all humans who gathered to show off our art.
Of course, I know what they meant,
I just couldn't believe they'd say it.

I sorry,
I turn on brain.
Me no think.
Think make you go away.

It frustrates me that I’m sitting here,
Staring at a blank page.
For I feel so much.
And I have so much to write,
On this empty page.
I have seen enough to write an endless novel.
So why is my page empty?
Not full of wooded trails.
Or life's many tales.
Not even the sympathies,
Of my many brothers,
And many sisters.
My page is empty,
Alas, the poet’s dying shame.

If the stars stopped shining,
The night would be like the deep sea.
Dark and cold.

If the stars stopped shining,
The light from the sailor’s lanterns,
Would reflect off the sea,
Like sunset on the Antarctic ice.

And the shipmen and their saxtons,
Could not find their way back home.
And there would be a little boy in the window,
Every night.

Waiting for his father to return.
There would be a woman at the widow’s peak.
Waiting for her husband to come home.

If the stars stopped shining,
Would lovers still love each other?
Because if the stars stopped shining, I don’t know if I would still see you.
In that certain way I’ve grown to love.

Tonight,
Is cold,
And the moon,
It has a halo,
My father tells me that,
Because of the temperature of tonight,
Though I wonder what if the moon,
Is really just an angel too high up.

Jesus Garcia,
Drive your train.
Be brave and drive the flames away,
Jesus saved his town, but couldn't save himself.

November comes in waves,
First, the leaves turn orange,
And fall from the trees.
Second, the last summer bird flies away,
And the city is left lonely,
With the haunting song of the crows.
Third, the winds turn bitter and cold,
And those who walk the streets dwindle,
Till I’m walking the city and find I’m alone.

i like raP music,
it makes me feel like theRe are,
famous peOple who understand,
the poems that i pUblish,
even if most are saD.

I think my heart might be made of stone,
It's durable, but often pieces of it crumble away.
It sparkles with crystals,
The remnants of happy memories.
It's cold to the touch,
After all, rock is heat resistant.
But that's not the greatest,
For I can't feel the warm fingers of love.

Two years ago,
I left you.
I did so under circumstances that were not our fault,
And while I own up to what I've done wrong over our two years of battling,
You have your own owning up to do.

But matter not,
Does that.
I'm coming home now,
Back to the kingdom of love which we called our own.
I know you don't wait up for me,
After all I swore I'd never be back.
But tell me you'll at least leave a light on for me,
Because the night is cold,
And all I want to do is run back to you.
I'm not the man I used to be,
I won't describe you with a love song.
I like to think I'm better now,
I no longer use words to for swords
I don't pick roses just for their thorns.

I know I was distasteful,
And you can't get that taste out of your mouth.
But I've been born anew,
Please give me a second chance.
I let my heart lead me,
And it's leading me to you.
So when I come knocking,
Just open the door?

I am from the sea, the salty spray of the Atlantic.
I am born of the trees and stars, of cold winds and breezy nights.
I am a son of the red sand hills, and the lost letters to neverland.
I am the making of love and pain, of lost will and false strength.
I am the lord of memories of longing and heartbreak.

I am born of an island of stone, and seas of stories.
I am a child of hatred and spite.
I am King of a long-lost land.
I am the farmer of an ancient plant.
I am from the sea, the salty spray of the Atlantic.

Someday,
I'd like to,
Write,
A poem where,
Every,
Line is written,
By,
A different poet.

Darling,
Do you remember the picnic we had by the sea?
You told me,
To wait there for you.
Darling,
Where are you?
I'm still waiting,
In the same spot you told me to.

Imagine reading a poem,
Beginning a comment on it,
Looking for the name of the author,
And realizing you wrote it.

Tonight there were fireworks,
They went off over the lake.
They were so loud,
It was like they were trying to blow a hole in the sky.

There came a point,
Where he no longer feared.
The endless stream of violence,
They faced him with.

I can't believe I'm missing you,
After all the things you put me through.
Sleepless nights making sure you were alright,
Dreary days ensuring you were eating okay.
You never wanted to be seen in public,
So we never went on dates.
All the ways you would curse yourself,
All the compliments you gave me, that felt like insults in disguise.
When I got in trouble for the times I'd meet up with you 9th period,
And I had to talk to that counselor that I didn't like.
The way his office was so blank,
It made me uncomfortable.
The days I had to walk by the street,
Because you liked drifting too close the speeding cars.
After all the things you put me through,
I can't believe I'm missing you.

I trended for five minutes,
Not a single minute more.
And yet those five minutes,
Are the best five minutes,
That I've ever had before.

I miss the days in summer,
When cold rains didn't drown out the sun.
And cold winds,
Wouldn't make my dry skin burn.

I
used To
read My poems
in Talent shows
i Don't think i will this year
i Worry i won't come off as well as the singers and dancers
i know that They will clap the same for me
but Are they
really Listening?

My dog can't see,
He goes under the table and paws at me.
Asking me to pet him, which I do.
But how does he know,
What hand is petting him if he can't see?

Sometimes I'll be listening to music,
And the music will pause.
So I have to go back to what's playing the music,
To ensure it that it's playing the right song.

Who took my happy days?
How come I didn't see them,
When they came to steal my times of joy?
I remember walking for hours in the evenings,
I remember staying up late with friends.
Who stole them from me,
When I wasn't looking?
I remember loving like the world was going to end,
I remember cuddling up with you.
Your kiss was so warm,
I loved those freckles that spread across your face.
Who lead you away,
Did you look back?
When the invisible man took you from me?
Where did my joy go?
I remember I would get scolded for smiling too much,
Now I've forgotten how to smile.
Why'd they take my smile away?
What did I do to deserve to lose it?
Where'd they go,
My happy days.

The fact I can press a button on here,
And read poems to make make you happy.
I love it.
But there's a reason it's poems 'to' make you feel happy,
It isn't guaranteed.

So is there a poem on here that I can read,
That will teach me how to love again?

I wonder occasionally,
If I write too many of these.
But I remind myself that,
While other people love them.
I'm really writing these for me.

Sometimes
I feel
Like my words
Are just flavor text

Latin is a beautiful language,
But it confuses me.
Ignis significat aquam.

Para hablar contigo,
C'est comme parler,
In così tanti,
Diversis linguis.

I don't want to flood this site,
But I think it's worth mentioning,
That overnight,
I went from needing,
299 poets,
To only needing,
294.

I've loved everything I've received,
And I am forever grateful.
Once the poem is done,
I will take down these updates.
So they don't sit around,
They'll be replaced, by a master piece.

Ofetn,
I spel wordz,
Awefully wong.

I was walking down the street,
And I saw you from afar.
Staring at me from the park bench,
On the elementary school's playground.
You waved at me,
I didn't wave back.
I don't think I'm ready to forgive you yet.

I like looking for my friends' poems online,
Although I know I've never met them,
And I probably never will.
I still consider them friends,
Although they're just a person here to read poems,
And I don't know what they even consider me.

My love is warm,
She makes my face flow with red.
My love is cold,
To others but I cannot feel it.
My love is trusting,
Good thing I was honest.
My love is playful,
Good thing I played her game.
My love is one of a kind,
The only woman I see.
My love is careful,
With my heart that is healing.
My love is a thief,
Of my breath.
I am lost in my love.
She is a frozen hourglass,
A bottle of endless time together.
She is my muse,
A piece of glowing beauty.
She is a torch,
My guiding light.
And, oh,
She was mine.

Somebody tell Tyler the Creator,
I want to write him a rap.
But when he raps it,
I want it to be the first time he reads it.
That way,
The emotional response will be original.

When they make colored pencils,
No matter what color they want to make,
It always starts out as green.

Did you know that,
The Earth.
Is a master chef?

Oftentimes
I'm the only one
In the way
Of myself