I compare thee to a soft breeze,
but you linger on my memory.
For you claimed me with your kiss,
you captured my admiration in
your jar of forget me nots.

Love devoured me,
stole my heart and
my feelings.

A memory of long ago
but still today you linger on.

© 2018 By Amanda Shelton

Porcelain angel has a
heart of glass,
every breath she takes
causes another break.

Fragile she is but still
she fights, as if her heart
is made from concerete.

Her feet are firmly planted,
but her foundation is not
rooted, so she’s holding steady
upon a weekend bed.

Her ground is felled with
broken dreams, and buried
wishes never seen
by the falling stars
that shoot above her head.

© 2018 By Amanda D Shelton

Inspirational and dreed,
we puke up our word's
unit nothing is left.

Poetry is dead,
for we've rubbed it raw,
broke it down into the tiniest pieces.

Now we poets have to prove our right
to call ourselves a poetic crime.

We write it out, draw the line
slowly bleeding what we define.

Our fingers are raw, red,
and bleeding ink,
since dying for our format
is a true crime.

Poetry is dead because it's stuck choking on my mind.

© 2018 By Amanda D Shelton

The sun burned bright
until the moon says goodnight.
The stars shoot across the sky
waving as they go by.
The beauty of the night,
smiles upon their flight.

As the tree’s bow their leafs,
and the animals scurry to their
homes, the night slowly
spreads its arms across the land.

Sleepy eyes are heavy,
the angels bow their heads
in deep prayer.

Goodnight sleep tight,
may you have calm,
peaceful dreams tonight.

It’s a crime if I didn’t take the time
to share my poetry.

These pages are a testimony
of my life,
I am the poems I write.

I suffer through but
I also write the truth,
I am happy and I write for you.

I am a poetic format waiting
to be written, waiting for my
debut.

Come over here
and I will write for you.

© 2018 By Amanda D Shelton

He speaks through a forcked tounge,
he feeds you his lies,
as he whips them like a pro
right before your eyes.

He's the devil in disguise,
wearing a suit and tie.

Beware of his toupee,
he's got horns hiding under
that frock.  

He bows only to himself,
his reflection gives his
true nature away.

He's the devil is disguise,
he'll tease you with his devilish eyes.
Only to bite you while running away.

He's the devil in disguise.

© 2018 By Amanda D Shelton

Like babbling brooks,
we once flowed like rivers
touching each other's banks.

Slowly life rushed us through,
crashing us against the rocks,
causing our rapids to rage,
as we collide our rivers grew.

Live, love, eat, and die like
the rivers do. We leave behind
scares and grooves creating
valley's and canals, a memorial
from our experiences.

© 2018 By Amanda D Shelton

Running fast but
going nowhere faster,
exhausted, ruined, and mulch
life can seem like all of these things.

Slowly decaying,
melting away
with unforgiving age
chipping away.

Broken motherboard,
beeping for attention,
sending unwanted codes
to the network that doesn't
work like it use to.

Wreckless rebel building
conquests from babbling
networks that slowly
give no interest to the server.

This is the suffers web.

Life can be hard,
Life can seem heavy at times.

Life can be like a fog,
rolling over your parade
so no one can see
the floats going by.

But once it rains,
once you get rest and clean,
life can seem like
a cool breeze
or a slowing rollercoaster
ready to release for
the next passengers.

Patience is what we need,
also love from everyone
and God.

This too shall pass
just try to remember
where you came from
and where you want
to head from now.

© 2018 By Amanda D Shelton

“To recovery to discovery, life is taken stride by stride, moment by moment. You might get cut alone the way but wound’s heal and stragthen.” © 2018 By Amanda D Shelton

I wrote this for a friend.

I walked my way through
heavy rain,
burned bridges along the way.

Through the years I suffered
pain, my bruises still raw
and hold the strife
I claim.

Over time things change
but still my soul remains
strong and bold.

I go my way burning bridges
along the way.

© 2018 By Amanda Shelton

A poet is an artist,
we paint with words and formats.

Our canvas is the internet,
parchment paper, a wall,
or fabric.

Our paints are pigmented with our
lives, slowly growing revealing
our strife.

With each line, we paint a grand design.

For a poet has an imagination
that has no secrets,
for us it's easy to be honest,
specially when the pen
is beaconing
for us to pick it up.

You can't be a poet and be shy,
for who will take notice
of your grand design if
you won't look them in the eye?

© 2018 By Amanda D Shelton

Hearts shatter so easily,
the pieces are sharp and crude.

The fragile pieces keep
cutting into my life,
making new wounds each time.

You take your knife
pushing it deeply
into my already broken life,
you ***** it deeper
until there’s nothing left
for me to bleed out.

You collect my suffering
in your ***** jar’s,
savoring my last heart beat
as if waiting for another
so you can take one more slice
just incase it didn’t fell
the jars to there brem.

You have become a grim reminder,
I shouldn’t trust you
as my friend or lover.

Sadly I have been through hell
many times before,
and I have grown stronger.

© 2018 By Amanda D Shelton

You are my bud to my rose,
you are my breath to my life,
you are my coo to my caw,
you are my shadow
to my morning sun,
you are my path
to my destination,
you are my cream
to my coffee.

You are many things
to my life,
you add structure
and texture to my ever
changing world.

You give me reason for living,
you add demintion to my understanding.

You give meaning to my quest,
my journey will never be a bore
not with you aboard.

You are my desire,
my reasoning and
the only one who forever holds
the key to the chambers of my heart.

**© 2018 By Amanda Shelton

Between the times we are together
and apart my heart waits patiently
but eager for your returning.

Time is like a shadow,
I can't see it but I know it's there,
our love can seem the same.

Like unforgiving waves
the destination is always the same,
I crash upon your shores,
like a storm you crash into mine.

We need not climb alone,
for we've got a forever home
inside each other's arms.

Love is like a stone,
it can seem hard at times,
but it takes thousands of years
to degrade.
Our love is the same.

**© 2018 By Amanda Shelton

I write poetry,
I also write emotions
that I find difficult to express.

Emotions on the ocean,
ride the rolling tides,
like a wave washing ashore
its life, that lives
in its depths.

It gave birth to a poetic format,
emotions too high to express
through a voice.

I come to a crossroads
between emotions and me,
I always share openly.

**© 2018 By Amanda D Shelton

Unseen by many
but I am not blind.

A ghost is of course
nothing but a nick in time,
a wound left behind
by a life birthed
from water and blood.

Its scares can be seen
if only you opened your mind
to the possibility.

I see what most can't
because I can imagine the possibilities.*

*© 2018 By Amanda Shelton

Silence is never a choice,
once your dead
even your memory screams.

A chilling breath worthy
to catch, a fearful mind
is a caldron of ghoulish
times.

A lost soul never truly dies,
for we all leave something behind.

Ghosts and you
there’s no difference
between the two.

You think you have a longer time,
sadly you don’t really know
when it’s your time.

Boo! Someday that will be you.

An EVP,
a video recording of a misty mass.

Who knows really?

**© 2018 By Amanda Shelton

My window is dripping with rain drops, my day is foggy
but beautiful.

I like the cold breath of winter,
she sits upon her earthy
domain, as if to tease me
once again.

**© 2018 By Amanda Shelton

The shadow's march on
through the night,
as the moon slowly moved on,
and the dawn stole the night.

**© 2018 By Amanda Shelton

I layed my soul upon the stone,
while my ghost still roamed.

Shadows danced while
my ghost took to its own.

I flew like a phantom
looking for a home,
if only I looked closer,
I was already home.

The ghost writer,
I wrote a poem
for you to remember me by.

**© 2018 By Amanda Shelton

I am made of nervous needles,
fever's, and chills, my goal is to
cause discomfort, and sickness.

I am chronic, needless, and sometimes
useless, and wasted time.

I communicate with neurons,
and cell's, causing nervousness,
and spell's.

I am pain.

**© 2018 By Amanda Shelton

To write is like,
a powerful emotion that has
no words to explain it.

I have a passion to write,
like I have no choice
to want to write.

Poetry is a formate,
a type of writing I am good at.

Writing a novel is harder,
for how can I put all
my passion into a novel
without losing its patience
and feeling? I can’t.

It’s like bottling up something
that’s too large for the container.
It over flows to the next pages
until you have too many
for a novel.

I am pretty sure if I was to
write a book,
I would have to write
more than one.

I have more poems inside my mind,
waiting for inspiration
to push it over the edge
until I write it down.

I am patient,
I know when to write,
I also know when
is a good time
for getting likes
and followers.
But it's never on my mind.

Most of the time I post
not to please you,
but to release my mind
from the pressure.

I have a passion like no other,
it’s counted by the letter,
each line is devoured by the next.
Until you have a page full of
prose and my unique format.

**© 2018 By Amanda Shelton

Be fair and just,
don't judge yourself too much.

We all have our flaws,
that is what makes us perfect.

I will fly upon unspoken word's,
like a flying carpet ride waiting
for you to arrive.

There I will pick the fruit
of fulfillment and gratitude.
Make you a salad to
help you grow and prosper.

You will be like a apple tree,
once I plant your seed
there's no stopping you
from growing.

Every word I spell,
every time I speak,
I hydrate your bloom
with my poems and artwork.

My technics are somewhat unique,
uncommon but yet normal
(for me).  

I am bent but still not spent,
I am rich with knowledge
and growth.

Come connect to my roots
and we can become a system
strengthened by our
knowledge and wisdom.

Farewell my sweet poet,
may we meet again
tomorrow morning.

When the dawn is new,
the trees come up from their
bow, lifting their top's higher
reaching for the sun.

That's when we will meet again,
until then; goodnight my sweet poet.

**© 2017 By Amanda Shelton

We philosophers find solitude
in the forums.

I march alongside the shadows
of ancient philosophers,
walking in their shoes,
sharing the same passion
of poetry and writing.

Like all the other writer's before me,
I too share the same love for
the forums.

The great Halls of knowledge,
are held within the wall's
of the forums.

The internet reflects that deep
need for entertainment,
and our passion has grown,
through the connection
of servers.

I believe it's in our nature
as writer's to want to share
and teach others what we know,
that's why we created the forum.

The Greeks understood philosophy,
their need for entertainment was great, so great they created some of the largest forums.

It's the circle of life,
our minds have a great want
to connect, we reflect our
passionate feelings through poetry,
art, and technology.

Here they become one.*

*© 2017 By Amanda Shelton

Sorrow bent her head,
cried tears that drowned
your fears.

Your dreams turned into
porcelain, slowly fell apart,
gave you a broken heart.

Your vision has been blinded
by the deeds of others
who see their needs
are more important.

You think why keep fighting?
When you should be thinking,
how can I keep fighting?

We dig a hole to plant
ourselves in solid soil,
only to find out the serounding
trees already stole the nutrients
from the soil.

Now we have to rebuild,
put the nutrients back,
see we can grow and develop
stronger roots.

**© 2017 By Amanda Shelton

Freedom is no longer available,
we are slaves to large corporations.

We colonized American,
only to in slave her people
who lived off its soil
before cowboys
found gold and oil.

Now we have been taken by the
greedy and needy man, who
has been handed rights
to slow down the one thing
we deemed free (the internet).

You think because you have been told
America is free and bold,
that makes it true.
Yet look at you,
we have a president who came from
greed, and TV.

Who thought he could run a country?

He knows nothing of the people,
he knows business and gluttony.

Hollywood has turned into a
horror film, always on film,
those stars shine bright,
but if you look to the sky
you’ll see a darker side.

Why? Because love of money
is the root to evil.

Businesses run everything,
from the foods we eat,
clothes we wear,
the fruits we bare,
and now the internet.

How do we share when
companies have all the rights
to choose our rights?

I am ashamed of America,
I am ashamed of my people,
who stole our freedom.

Poor America it has joined
the other nations
who are corrupted
by the needful heavy man
who runs the main land
(The Government).

**© 2017 By Amanda Shelton

Tis 2:00am as fog rolled in,
the tree’s sighed and the soft
snow fell quitly outside.

The coffins bare,
the earth chilled and frozen;
this is where he lays,
deep in 9 feet of dirt felled air.

Soulless without a care,
a fool to bring suffering
to the poor humans,
who never noticed he was there.

A shadow of his former self,
he resembles nothing of himself.

Lurkering amongst the beastly
shadows, where monsters belong
to blood and bone,
the foolish break,
this fool follows his natural bent.

Intentions are of course seaking
his thirst, with an open mouth
full of gagged teeth.

He claws for insurance,
an immortals bank never drys,
forever is a long time.

So gather your affairs,
before the dawn bares witness
to your foolish pride.

The vampire is here,
come for a ride?
(it’s just you and I, I swear)
he smiles wide.

Merry Christmas my beastly friends.

**© 2017 By Amanda Shelton

I knock it out of the ballpark
by expressing myself with
just a few words.

I write poetry to show my emotions
that I have trouble expressing
through my actions.

I am autistic and my brain is wired differently than yours.
Emotions are like the ocean,
my tides might rise higher than yours.

I have learned how to ride the waves,
like a pro I surf as I ride with pride.

I am a poet not by choice but
by chance because I am an autistic poet and emotions are my tool.

**© 2017 By Amanda Shelton

I might suffer
but I sure know how to fight.

I can up hold my own,
like a squirrel holds
onto their acorns,
I hold onto my life.

I don’t care to argue,
but I will put up a fight,
standing tall
for I am a mighty force
to be reckoned with.

Like lightning,
I know where to strike
I leave my mark,
I make my stand.

I am a beacon in the night,
you may use me but with
caution and care,
I then will burn brightly
for year’s to come.

I am embers burning through
the coldest winters,
my heat radian through the
night air,
giving you a 180° view.

**© 2017 By Amanda Shelton