On a whim,
the idea’s began to swim.

Every word, every line,
I began to write my rhyme.

I became passionate and insain,
as I spit out my ink.

Like a fire breathing Dragon,
my poetic passions
burned from within,
waiting to burst forth
from the poet within.

Every moment I waste,
I now foresee,
a fragile quill an ink pen,
scratching the parchment
with its eagle like claws.

Soon the Dragon within me
will bleed out
from beneath my skin.

I then will write my poetry,
releasing the poetic Dragon
deep within me.*
*
© By Amanda Shelton

Upon unspoken word's
you traveled closer,
you managed to crawl into my life,
like an unwanted itch,
you ******* up
my sense of security.

My contentment ran away with my
future, leaving behind insecurity.

Soon your heavy waves will hit,
causing my shores to crumble and tumble
into nothing.

Your winds take up my time,
like unwanted dreams
that turn into nightmares.

Yet this whole time,
You were nothing but my shadow
looking for the spotlight.  *

© By Amanda Shelton

From
The Weathering Poet

And once again you meet me in a sweet dream; our moments are short but weathered like the passion I feel for you.  

Aw yes with such passionate embraces I melt into your arms once again,  only to find you were never mine.

Upon unspoken word's you left me there, as I was awoken to the sent of your perfumed passion.  

I breathed you in like a perfumed rose, as my mind devoured you for all time.

But I lost you once again upon the waking of a sweet dream.  

I await for the next time ,
when we will walk on the shores of our sweetest dreams. *

© By Amanda D Shelton

I woke with chills
shivering down my spine,
like a scratchy shadow
clawing at my skin,
I trimmer from within.

My fears consume
and devour,
as my mind goes sour.

These night’s I fight with monsters
from my nightmares,
deeper and deeper
I slowly approach
my darkest dreams,
only to find my tortured screams.

© By Amanda D Shelton

The rose release's a threat
but to us it is a beautiful perfume.

The rose crys as its petals release there grip,
one by one they
fall to the ground.
Joining the others,
whome fall consumes.

Being of a poet's design, I create imagery with a poetic line.

My thoughts exit through my pen, scratched and drained of my inspirations.

Of white pages and ink stained fingers,
you will find me mingling with my creativity, pondering upon my aspirations like a sneaky shadow soaking up the light.

I am a shadow of my former self, these day's end with
the nasty taste of
ash and suit.

Bleakly soaked with the
black interior of my dreams, it seemed doomed as decaying wind's
begin to blow.

You are like dust in the wind, your ashes linger but not for long.

The ghosts of my past
sneak into the home
of my lofty dreams,
only to settle upon my mind.

The weight of such a loss,
I gained upon your last breath.

I said my goodbyes but my heart died that night,
you held on for me.  

Your tears will never be forgotten.
My mother you will
always be.

My shadowed self deployed emotions of grief.

I feel the emptiness you left behind.
Though I miss your face,
I will never forget our embraces.

Forever more my mother you will be.
No matter if it is in
life or death,
I will never forget.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

​"I believe in love at first write."

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦


Every poem I write, every word I spent,
everyday that I sat and shared my poetic whispers
into the vastness of the web.
Somewhere along the way I lost myself.

Each scribble, every rant and dribble
was written by my fragmented heart,
beating and bleeding
every last drop of ink I had left.

Onto these pages,
full of my poetic scares,
a lost art is once again found,
it was hiding under my skin.

In my mind it festered and decayed.

Like rotten, forgotten, dead flowers
perfumed by its wilting mulch.

Soon my poetic form will transcend above this vast web,
it will take intrigue, wrap it up to prepare for its transformation.

Forming words into poetic justice;
that cursed my ink soaked soul,
with abstract view of reality,
that I wrote while I fought my sufferings.

What a sad day it will be,
if ever I lose my poetic drive.

Oh woe is me, unto such a day as this.

The darkest hour of my life would be, the day
I lose my true love (poetry).


♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
© By Amanda D Shelton

From
Don't Forget About Me
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
What Sweet Dreams May Come,
Like Waves On The Ocean Shore?

Heavy like rain,
love devoured my dreams.
As my passions died, upon the waking
of my rose colored visions.
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥


And within a sweet dream
you came to me.
Once there, you began
to devoured me,
with your lips
you stole my heart
and what was left
of my passion.

There you stood before
the shoreline
of my lost dreams,
as your light beckoned
to my waves.

I lost my mystery to your winds,
as my waves beat and pushed
upon your misty sands.

I became a ghost,
a lost wandering soul,
who stole your promises
and dreams.

Those dream like lips,
salty and sweet
took me back into your arms
once again.
And there we stood in each other’s embrace,
forever mingling with the sands
of our sweetest dreams.

Such passions we dreamt,
of two lovers walking
in the morning breeze.
We became a flame
burning brightly in the night,
as the dawn devoured
our blaze with its morning light.

As we walk on the shores
of a sweet dream,
the waking time devoured
my rose colored visions
and I lost you once again within a sweet dream.


♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
© By Amanda Shelton

From

My Dying Heart Collection
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Dust and blood is our love,
the roses were only to **** my
inspiration,
for your promises were spoiled before they left your lips.

Your kiss stool my reserve,
and you never kept your promises.

Your love dead along side
your promises,
as well as my heart.

Ticking of the clock,  
tick tock, tick tock...
the ghostly hour
is approaching,
it is creeping closer
by the minute.

Each blink,
each breath,
each step,
is closer to its depths.  

1 by 1 adds up to 2,
each moment it is creeping
closer to you.  

Misty breath,
ghostly hour approaching
faster by the hour.  

1 by 1 adds up to 2,
the ghostly hour is upon you.

Pounding heart,
beating out of your chest,  
footsteps sounding across the room.

The ghostly hour is upon you.
3am oh no...


Boo!


© By Amanda Shelton

The shadows lengthened
as the night ended.

Ghostly visions
dear to intrude,
these nightly visits
are dream like and crude.

I learned about the shadows
and the darkly lit meadows.

I like the roses,
I bloomed and grew
with the knowledge of spring.  


© By Amanda Shelton

I sat with much contentment,
for I am happiest when I write.

All my might
goes into the night,
with every word,
I began to write.

My shadow play’s
as my poet craves,
and my words are engraved
upon the writer’s block.

Soon word’s will play
as I write the plot.

The poet I am,
the dreadful lot,
dried up my thoughts.

Nevermore will I deplore
such illusion upon your life,
instead I will cut like a knife
into your mind,
there I will set forever allure,
nothing but shallow word’s,
yet still my poetic heart fell
into a poet’s disease,
with such passion I fell deeply.

I do adore word's
and there I was lost.

I fell to my knees,
as poetry devoured me.

© By Amanda Shelton

I am not nutty, I'm allergic to nuts.
I am batty. Duh!


© By Amanda Shelton

Married in death lovers forever,
yet life came and took one away.

Left alone the dead lover rose to claim
his true love's heart.

So as in death they are also together in life.

© By Amanda Shelton

From
Reversed Poetry

Our Love Is Forever
♥♥♥

Our heart’s are kind, full, and complete.

Never are we a part,
for we are connected
by the strings of our heart’s.

Forever entwined
you and I,
Our shadows are one
walking hand in hand.

♥♥♥

© By Amanda D Shelton

Mother Nature sighs as she opens her eye's
behind the star's in the skies,
as she opens her hands
she reveals the moon
while she keeps the planet's in tune.

© By Amanda D Shelton

What if I fell in love with a poet?
Would his poetry bare witness to our intimacy?

Would he bare his soul to me,
through his words and ink?

Would I become his poem,
his inspiration and aspirations?

Would his lips bare and sweet,
leave a poetic dream for me;
to caress and meet him there?

Would we become naked and wild,
like a warm spring air
that breathes our passions
into its bloom?

What if I fell in love with a poet ?

Would we become one,
or would he spoil our love with
his wicked word’s?

What if I fell in love with a poet?

Would he be like his poetry;
rare, smooth, and grungy?

There's only one lover for me,
that would be poetry.

© By Amanda Shelton

I once sat with sadness,
ate at his table, drank his tea,
and partied with his friends.

Through it all,
I lived with suffering
as I prayed on my knees for
relief.

No one should have to live through
grieve.

I made friends with sadness,
so my suffering had to leave.

I learned how to cope,
I learned depression will not be
what defines me.

Sadness is a friend of mine.

© By Amanda Shelton

Oh no my porcelain is crumbling,
decay has come to eat me away.

My porcelain cracked,
my porcelain
turned black and yellow,
my porcelain fell to pieces
in your hands,
I started to crumble.

The glue didn’t last,
the hold wasn’t strong enough
to keep me from falling apart
like glass.

My porcelain was once new,
but with use,
my porcelain couldn’t handle
such abuse.

Come save me,
make me a heart of gold,
make me brilliant
and eternally yours,
a porcelain doll with a heart of gold.

I surrender to your fix,
to your application
and programming,
for I am broken and
I need your fix.

My porcelain heart is
broken and crumbled,
nothing is left but dust and ash.

Porcelain heart's weren't meant to last.


© By Amanda Shelton