Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Bailey Mar 2016
Forget me not, O lovely one, until your last setting sun, that wavers in comparison to your marvelous eyes and crumbles forth as I am paralyzed, by your beauty, strength and your power of will, I'll love your caring heart until the day it stills.
old poem about written for first love
Bailey Mar 2016
Dream of the possible colors to splay, onto the blank canvas of future days.
Dream of the possible journeys to make, now that you’ve realized all of your mistakes.
Dream of the possible sights to see, in the world so kindly offered to thee.
a lot of old poems tonight
Bailey Mar 2016
Dip into my morning sky o' blue jay of mine. I want to awaken to your beauty. Soar into my mind when all has gone wrong. I want to imagine the sound of you tweeting.
Oh how unsheltered head, you are now limitless, but fly into my humble abode and you will fly protected, yet freely.
Fear not my love, of stormy weather. No longer shall you fly on weary wings. No longer shall you fear the hunter, no longer shall you fly from anything. Lay with me. Rest with me. My heart is your den. And if naught you take up my offer, I shan't worry- for in the morn' I will admire you again.
Bailey Mar 2016
With I casted star, and you as scope;
We each hold still, a child’s hope.
That surely as spring
The sky will roll back
The star will fall
And the earth will crack.
But, with truth, is the star of importance?
Or a numbered pawn,
For the softly spoken wish?
But a thought naught many,
What shall be of the star,
When it’s already fallen?
Lying in the dirt
Having already been wished upon
What love shall happen?
Nothing.
The wish granted,
The star dying.
For in the morn’,
‘Tis not my place.
The star shan't get up.
wrote this at the age of fourteen about a boy who was really a man and told me I was prettiest when I cried.
Bailey Mar 2016
During a moving, late night conversation,
I told you I loved you.
You cried thankful, happy tears.
Today, out of the blue,
You told me you were in love with me.
I responded with slight annoyance, and fear.

The difference between
My words and yours
Is that I only say what I mean

But you say these things
Because in little doses
I wash away your insecurities.
I say these things because I love you in whatever way, and you say them so that I'll stay, but I don't want you in that way right now anyway. Get it?
  Mar 2016 Bailey
William Shakespeare
Who will believe my verse in time to come
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts:
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say, “This poet lies,
Such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces.”
So should my papers, yellowed with their age,
Be scorned like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termed a poet’s rage,
And stretchèd metre of an antique song.
    But were some child of yours alive that time,
    You should live twice, in it and in my rhyme.
Bailey Mar 2016
When you feel uncomfortable in your own skin,
what then?
what happens next?
Next page