When gentle breezes turn into gale,
     remember that you will prevail.

       You may tear at these pages daily,
in search of peace and tranquillity.
   Planting hope and scattering wishes,
    Spilling blood in smears and blemishes...
       Flying out of the dark on
     wings of birds.
       Bridging the rippling void through
           severed words.

                Seeking...
             Reaching...
               Imploring...
            Writing...

     Be not wary of eyes that speak.
  Be not afraid of mouths that leak.

Know that our scribbles are only
   sacred to us.
       Emotions and thoughts we
           bind and truss.

  What we put forth, we owe it to ourselves...
     Bits of us we've kept hidden in the
darkest rooms; atop the highest shelves.

You...
      are wielder of your mighty pen.
You...
      determine how far or long your
         words would span.

   Your words... They're precious gold.
Many or little; be them new or old.

So let drip your ink with little reservation...
  Let us grow from strength to strength
     as life teaches its lessons.

   Rise up and live on in these here pages,
     For here exist only
         freedom;
               not cages.

Those words I've been dreading to hear,
Not boldly uttered--
But clearly, I could feel...

     Unspoken words, indeed they sear...
     Seemingly rendering you unfettered.
     Our flags mismatched in mauve and teal.

I marched my fingers, slowly,
To your cheeks down to your lips.
Touched the traces of stained tears.
From deep slumber,
You've awaken.
Eyes fluttered open.
Those eyes.
They spoke.
Those eyes.
They told me to stay---
To stay.
Away.

     I cupped your face while time froze in
     eternity...
     Locked in tender gaze as my heart dips.
     Reflected in yours were the wasted
     years...
     Felt the weight of commitment's anchor...
     Dragged over a land forsaken...
     Overladen...
     With dastardly lies...
     Tinting future skies so grey,
     But my mouth would welcome the urge to
     say,
     Of the courage long held at bay...
     This minute... This day...

Sweetly tortured by your kiss.
The pain came.
Swift.
Blinding.
Sharp.
It pierced me to where i am.
My heart shattered before it dies.

     These subtle hints you conveniently miss,
     Only hastened the end of this game...
     Time had seen our hearts set adrift...
     We are only playing,
     A broken, detuned harp...
     Withholding our conflicting wants, much
     like a dam.
     Protecting us from defeated cries...

     So let us dispense with sweet
     pleasantries.
     Let us bid farewell to the dream of our
     unified fates in one painful sigh...
Along with all our
memories.
And your words of goodbye.


iammissbrightside
**ryn

I envy the girls with small hands and small feet
Long hair and everything petite
I have large hands and large feet
Short hair and everything big about me
Some girls envy my height
Some girls envy my large hands cause they're good in a fight
I'm a writer, not a fighter
I'm not in a padded ring
I'm walking my way down blue lines of offering
The offering that takes me
It takes my writer's blood as offering
And it's never ending
I'm thankful for the pages that hold me
They're the reason I'm staying together
They are the reason I haven't fully fell a part yet

*And the ropes are slowly thinning away into nothing

I will wait outside
because you've locked the doors,
battened down the hatches,
and prepared for a storm
but the day will come
when you’re not afraid anymore
and I’ll be where you left me
because I've always been yours.

Father Fire, make me ashes.
The widow Wind carries tears
With every rainfall,
Forever mourning
Brother Breeze.
Factory chimneys stole his
Soul.

Make me light enough for her
Arms.
Feathers, strands of hair,
Fog breath.
Carry me as these while you
Dance in sorrow.

I will dance with you
Until grandfather Time
Finally rests as
Forever.

Father Fire, make me ashes.
My heart belongs
With other things of lightness.
Fleeting thoughts, stolen
Looks between young lovers;
Warming remarks between
Strangers on a
Winter street
Smiling.

It's been an honor. Thank you all for supporting me, teaching me how to be a poet I very much appreciate it but for now I have to be one with the wind.

I'll be back as soon my future is certain, education is as they say the path to all paths.

I love you all

There once was a garden where everything died
Even the birds had flown off to hide
The mighty oaks had lost all their branches
As for the flowers , long ago had they all of their chances

Even the sky turned black as it flew by
Then all of the clouds had to cry and cry
The floods could not wash away the pain
Those who lived there died or went insane

Laughter had been banned years ago
The crow's kaw kaw , was never a show
The only sound that was to be heard
was the wail of the missing violin's words

Under moonlight , by shadowy night
The strings cried blood and tears for sight
Even the moon overcome lost one dusty tear
to the life missing after all of these years .

One day the cry of the music stopped
The last string had now finally popped
The violin laid down in the ground
and there was never again another sound

And years had now gone on by
No one living then was left alive
There had been a revolt or so
Flowers once again started to grow

Trees sprouted out and began to bud
You could once again feel life's gentle nudge
The grass carpeted the woodland floors
and happiness returned to all once more

Now all had forgotten about the violin
But sometimes if you listen to the midnight's wind
You can hear it while it goes about tuning
for all it's sins had now long been forgiven

Twelve red roses
Will wilt;
Twelve red hours
Continually bloom.

I don't have a problem with
hipsters, goths, jocks,
skaters, rockers, preps,
farmers, plumbers, executives,
Blacks, Hispanics, Asians, Caucasians,
gays, furries, bronies,
foodies, junkies, abstainers,
republicans, democrats,
atheists, monotheists, polytheists,
etc.

People are people.
So, why begrudge them that?

I do, however, have a problem with mean, hateful people
who's greatest joy comes in a form of shadenfreude.

Be who you are,
but don't impose your self-image onto others;
impose others onto your Self with a healthy dose of salt.
You may learn a thing or two.

Live and let live.