A thin, jagged line
Of blinding light,
Cuts through the sky.
Pure electricity—
Quick as lightning—
It’s there, and then it’s gone.
It dazzles the dark sky
Like a deadly firework.
It lights up the gloomy world—
Just in time to disappear—
And plunge back into darkness.

there is plenty of time to walk from town,

to give an opinion whenever requested.



there is time to talk, and receive gifts. make



time to buy some ready. it has been said before

that these are falling days. look at the wild seeds

and know that as splendid as you are, that



you are  one of many.



there is still time.



sbm.

Everyone feels pressure to make a huge impact on the world
We all want to be remembered when we die
We fear that if we are not famous when we die
then no one will miss us
No one will grieve us
No one will ache for us
That is not true
Fame does not measure how much you are loved
You do not need to be on TV to be loved
You do not need to take your clothes off in front of a camera to be loved
You do not need to write a hit song to be loved
You do not need to have a million dollars to be loved
The ones who love you for who you are
The ones who have seen you at your lowest and still stuck around
The ones who fought with you and for you
The ones who remembered your birthday without the help of Facebook
The ones who saw you at your most vulnerable and never took advantage of you
The ones who held your hand when you were scared
The ones who cheered you on when you couldn't believe in yourself
Those are the people who truly love you
Those are the people who will remember you
Those are the people who will not let a day go by without showing you
even after death how much they love you
So what those people may be five
or 20
or 50
They may not be 2 million followers like your social media profile reads
I would rather be remembered by 5 people who truly loved me
than by 2 million people who only love me based on my social status as a celebrity


For anyone who has passed on that thinks their souls are not remembered and to those who fear they will be forgotten after death, you will be remembered and you are remembered. This poem was inspired by Taylor Swift's song "Long Live" and Season 4: Episode 14 "The Hero In The Hold" from the Television show "Bones"

I cannot imagine myself living in a world
where you don’t exist.
Because in this world where all one can smell
is gun smoke and young blood shed on the pavements,
in this world, your breath makes the air pure
bearable to me,
even though you are so far away from my arms,
even though I will never have you
and I've never had.
Even though you've been only one of those vivid dreams
from which I wake up crying
and scared
and happy.

I woke up a long time ago,
but I can still feel the air
you were breathing out
into my soul.

I watch her parting lips
form around tongue-tied mouth
waiting for the words to come
waiting to hear what she has done

I brace myself for what I am about to hear
astonished that somehow she can see through the cascading tears
a haunting silence fills the room
She says her time is ending soon

The darkness swirls in a vengeful throw,
Tossing and turning through tides of snow.
Though it be white and pure
This poison has no cure.

Heart aching in pain and sorrow,
It is felt as if there is no tomorrow.
As soon as the sun has fallen,
It will soon be all forgotten.

- 50RR0W

Strength comes from within
Just look at yourself
Search to find the answer
That would be of grand help
As time continues to pass on
Remember, it all stars with you
Be the best person you can be
Just guide yourself all the way through

the butterflies bubble, dawdle, build up
homes underneath the skin, as she looks at him
as he looks at him
as she looks at her
as they look to each other

cocooning between blood vessels and pulses
their wings spread as intoxication, renovation
hands reach up
for him
for her
and stars are plucked and presented

they are the stars that first looked around the space
and came to rest, upon the ignorant, beautiful breast
of him, of her
from his eyes
from her eyes
and they glitter, and flutter

the chemical pours through the muscles and the butterfly
blooms, takes wing at hill-start, straight to heart
physical
spiritual
infinitely wonderful
for him, for her, for them, and for forever

I once
met a man
with a thousand
yard stare

and a club
in his hand
in Trafalgar Square

and the blood
on his club
matched the blood
in my hair

one fine and fair
morning in spring;