Her fingers carefully caressed the covers of potential readings, as if doing so they will emit something to tell her she is making the right choice. In her mind there is no wrong choice, for whatever piece of literature she chooses, she will take some piece of knowledge or understanding from it. She comes across one book that really stands out to her. It’s corners are crippled, it’s pages torn, and it’s cover mangled. She brushed off the dust using her index finger, to realize there is no title, no authors name, and no publishers stamps to be found anywhere. Intrigued, she opened it.
“Burn this book.”
She did not burn to book, and would live to regret not taking this valuable piece of advice for a very long time..
All too often the view is bleak,
generations under scrutiny and constant critique.
When all that lies within is misery,
all it might take is a tweak.
A new perspective.
A new technique.
To open the mind and think.
All too often we're blind to the beauty surrounding,
it can enlighten and be astounding.
Your spirit begins grounding.
A different view that seems to be organically compounding,
and tears fall as life's true nature becomes clear and resounding.
my shadow settles
in a different corner of the world
and his obscures me
content to hang on my frame
shielding any light from my eyes
faith's grievance -
the gravest sin I'd commit
salt to skin
faith's only albatross -
the bits of faith I'd toss
like Ms. Greenwood's dress
into the darkest parts of New York
like I think of my name
winking into the fixed abyss
indifferent to its prior disguise
when it does not leave the lungs enough
and on the height of my fuss,
like a sour gust through the city at night
- a hint of death
a tinge of it on my hands
the void I fault for its expanse
promises to snarl his shadow from my shoulder
invites me into its limbo
desperately whines my title
it calls with little confidence,
but I linger to step in
flecks of gray interrupting the black
will I live, wander the world's breadth
with the impetus of two dead legs
or will I become a cry of breath?
I flirt with two dooms,
swinging like a two-phase-moon;
stay, go, stay, go
weighing the whimper of my soul
against brain's drive to die alone
hope - he bends like a lion
like one does to drink
looks into the mirror of my face
he urges; he is thirsty
does so silently
well, I am the stream
who else will drink of me?
as if I am as still and quiet as some water
and I cannot beg access to his lips
for I've none of my own to part
I am drenched
as you wash
through my pores
I am quenched
as it pushes down
I am splayed
to all four corners
exposed to your eye
My veins are frayed
from suffered hautings,
rock my tender tide
My torso is taut
to meet liquid lips
all these *****,
controlling my hips
We share a
rushing river language
speaking deftly in tongues
You penetrate my soul
as I breathe air into
So take me on an
down the crash
of your shore
I want to drown
in this ocean
and come to life
with a roar
It has been a while. Hello, everyone! <3
Without creativity we lose the flame.
Without sincerity we lose the humane.
Without poetry we forget past pain.
Without pain we never gain.
Without knowledge we only remain, and never break from restrain.
With growth we finally free the brain.
Who am I if I'm not alive enough to see?
Who can I become with so much internal deceit?
Who and what is a soul when it's become lost?
Who and what is remembered when I'm forgot?
We all traverse pain, we all know it's true name.
The cold eternal flame that is universally the same, the fuel to this almighty game of life we confusingly play.
Fine delicate wings
Satin and Lace,
Flowing ever so gently -
A heavenly dance
Portraying such elegance
Out of this world--
An amazing spectacle
A wondrous delight;
And very, very, real.
By Lady R.F. (C)2018 ⚘
The unforgiving grasp tightens on our minds, and sinks faster than an anchor.
The unrecognizable emotions rip and tear the morality of even our best thinker.
The unjustifiable nonsense occurring has a globalized society acting consistently "faker".
The mind and reality can be united, finally at peace, if we only knew the truth behind our creator.
Our true maker.
The answer is simple.
The answer creates a giant ripple.
The answer of our creator would allow everyone to sprint, even the *******.
A poem on how simple and united our world could be if religion were eliminated through the irrefutable discovery of how we truly came to be.
She says, “Come hither...”
She is an alluring *****
with her pure and virginal whites,
chaste as an egg. Mm hmm.
Her flash frosts,
her intricate, fleeting diamonds,
her dew when she warms
drips and drops into ******* spears...
She pulls you in.
She pulls on you,
milks you to the core.
She whispers “Come hither...”
in her squalls,
but she leaves only shells.
Such small feathered things,
stiffened and dead,
touched by Winter’s hand.
But she is beautiful,
You can not help yourself.