Vision is amazing,
As essence through our eyes,
Truth is held in vision,
A sight seen never lies,
It's impossible to explain,
Feelings felt when I see you,
Because there entity's unknown,
But my eyes know beauty,
& it's beyond it what you've shown,
My eyes are attracted to yours,
& I dont seem to know why,
What I see in you is beauty,
Endless to the sky,
I've never written a poem to a stranger,
But what do I have to lose?
I don't know why i'm scared to talk to you,
It's just im so confused,
My heart's been beaten & shattered,
Lied to & abused,
The people who hurt me,
Just did it to amuse...
Themselves,
With the tears from my eyes,
I am a girl...
Who tries,
& tries...
& tries...
To find happiness again,
A part of me is missing,
I want to change that to back then,
I'm not an angry person,
My name is Celine,
I don't know anything but **,
But I wish I knew you well,
I am nervous what you'll think of me,
Like if you thought that I was crazy,
But my eyes have seen you in reality,
& what i've seen is just amazing,
I can talk I really do,
I promise it I swear,
I'm a nice person,
Full of love & care,
I think it'd be cool to get to know you,
I just really don't know how,
But when I see you with my eyes...
All I can think is...
Wow...

There are some things that hurt more than others:
(i) The moment before a purple-and-yellow bruised sunset
is swallowed up by the horizon in its flaming farewell.
(ii) The concave spaces in the landscape of your lonely body
when nobody is present to fill them in, to wander through.
(iii) The view of someone’s back, an omnipresent reminder
that everyone has to leave at one point or another.

There are some things that heal more than others:
(iv) The rush and ebb of the waves in the ocean,
they know that people leave and things change,
but they come back (and leave), come back (and leave)
until you realize that the return makes the leaving hurt less.
(v) The scars in your skin
which belie the ones on your heart
Not everything is able to form scabs so easily.
(vi) A good hug, the kind that picks you up and spins you around
and squeezes your heart within a fist of love and trust.
The best hugs are the ones that make you feel like
they never let go.

What wonderful
and terrible
things to behold in this life.

Behind every book is a story,
parts may be a mystery,some pieces of the plot,
being evident at first glance,
yet many aspects are unwritten,
waiting for the pen to caress,
the paper as creativity,
escapes from the mind,
forming words flowing through,
the hand of the creator.

Each Book is original,
an expressive reflection of the author,
at first sight may appear,
as simply mundane;
perhaps the decision to explore,
the pages within a cover,
rustic in appearance,
concealing an extraordinary tale,
is an idea to ponder.

A turn of a Page,
reveals intricate  details,
depicting the facade,
blocking the view of true character,
the quirks of each line,
pullng your conscious thoughts,
into an enthralling journey.

Each Sentence units,
to become a paragraph,
of another world or being,
to discover as one obtains,
the vision of another.

Each paragraph morphing into imagery,
as one is enveloped by imagination;
others consumed by reality,
captured in elegance,
or explained through alluring charm,
one yearns to trek through,
crossing into beauty of a life,
unfamilairly touching the soul,
with an experience of an inevitable territory,
contained within the touch of humanity,
shared with one through,
the reading the passions of one's mind.

A sensation,
fullfilling one's heart,
with immense pleasure,
and extreme satisfaction.
as one dances with the spirit,
of a written legend.

Depths of knowing
In this kaleidoscope of measurable thought with sight and sound surrounded in waters filling
The mind outward and inward dimensions filling the skull what beholding how it is unfolding reams of
Streaming ideas clash swirl ever deeper raw thinking plunges ever deeper in the place of wonder it all
Swells and with just the right time that it takes to birth completeness human understanding ascends
Against formidable odds expression pours forth in a torrent are we not the sum total of what we think
Then let us mine the extreme the conscious active world can only raise to the level we appropriate in
Private study no great accomplishments have ever come in any other way not all are all called to lead a
Nation or pursue medical breakthroughs but our lives are privileged it’s not find the lowest level and
Sink down no it is speculate about the stars lift yourself to unknown heights in this accessible quest
You jettison limitations you get a foretaste of glory the hidden future hints at thrills yet to be unveiled
As one awaking from deep sleep you will know invigoration possibilities are at the end of favorable
Questions that are asked if you squander in lazy unstructured thinking then you pass sentence on your
Self and your life will be captured in mediocrity the idea is constantly be one who reassesses each
Situation maybe there is a better way the pillars of society rest on the tried and true but not before
They are tested why build inferior structures you want your work your life to inspire leave others
Wondering how they did it this can only be after you have fought indifference much is won by just
Committing to the lengths that it will take not how can I find a short cut that will prove to be
Disheartening from that point your actions will conform to less and the first inroads to weakness
And small living takes over you will hear yourself say if only I wish I had done it differently you have one
Life invest it wisely it will be your legacy to all at a vital turn maybe your life will quicken someone else
When they rethink your life avoiding disaster for them

Around 93 million miles from darling precious mother Earth,
First appeared glory sun,
In ecliptic stroll,
She'll orbit through her universe,
Dances past Mercury,
Stops for no party,
Cos this planet's party's lacking atmosphere,
Scally-wag sun scoots by Venus,
Burning hot herself,
Shining brightly in the darkness,
Phosphorescent glow,
Hesperus, the evening star, first one to be seen at night,
Phosphorous the morning star, the last planet to bid us goodnight,
When the morning comes in sight
Our lady home is next in line,
A planet rich with all life's treasures,
Mars she sits quietly dressed in red,
Has no water, not sure if she's always been dead,
Jupiter, has severe acne, shown in one red spot immense, she has no atmosphere, what gas she has is toxic, ammonia, methane, hydrogen,
The biggest baby of them all,
Saturn wears no wedding rings, has bands of ice particulate skirting round it's girth,
Uranus not much to say, he hangs around in space all day, as the Greek God of the sky,
Watching as the other world's go by,
Neptune, Roman God of the seas in planet form,
Pluto, chilled, the coldest one of all.

I hope you enjoyed this, it was extremely hard to write!!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Hell is not made of fire.

A lot of people believe that hell is a world covered in flames, with heat that sears through your very being, scorches your soul, and inflicts terrible agony. They say Hell is a place for fiery torment, where fire is a vicious serpent that winds through your existence and seeks to quench every feeling except anguish, but at the same time refusing to let you be conquered by nothingness, keeping you wide-awake so you can feel every blistering sensation.

They're wrong.

Hell doesn't look the same for everyone else. Hell is a multi-faced mirror with countless reflections caging you inside the hollow of a diamond so you can see the glaring facets you refuse to look at. Hell is not always a place; sometimes it's a feeling, sometimes it's an event--sometimes it's a person.

Hell shows itself not only in death. Hell is everywhere--it's just somewhere around the corner of the street, hiding its face behind a newspaper, waiting for you to make the wrong choices. It's just somewhere behind you, an invisible fiend watching your every step, waiting for you to stumble. And once you do, it will laugh at you. You won't hear its sinister laughter, nor would you notice the subtle shift of the ground beneath your feet.

The odds are no longer in your favor.

Hell is cold. Hell is calculating. Hell is terrorizing.

Hell is reaching inside yourself, searching your heart, trying to find out how you really feel--but ending up finding nothing. Hell is opening your mouth to scream but nothing comes out because there is nothing left inside. Hell is the immovable boulder weighing down on your chest, it is the desperate need for the ability to cry, it is the panic and anguish that comes when you realize you can't.

Hell is watching him with his perfect hair and perfect eyes and perfect smile, knowing he isn't even aware of your plain existence. Hell is realizing for the first time that unrequited love is not as romantic as people say. Hell is waiting, waiting, waiting for something you know won't come. Hell is finally getting the nerve to say 'I love you' but only receiving silence in return. Hell is laughing it all away and saying it's nothing, I understand why, all the while wishing you could run to someplace where you can cry and scream without being heard. Hell is falling in love.

Hell is the red mark on your record, the frowns on your parents' faces, the pitying looks on your friends' expressions. Hell is the star you failed to reach, the shaking heads, the consoling pats on your back. Hell is the mocking laughter ringing in your ears even after they've long ended. Hell is the condescending voices echoing from somewhere in the back of your mind, reminding you who you were, who you've been, and who you are now. Hell is laughing at you. Hell is disappointment. Hell is trying and trying over and over and never succeeding. Hell is failure.

Hell is building your life with damning patience, with meticulous thoroughness, with painstaking care, and having it all knocked down to the ground. Hell is desperation, hopelessness. Hell is the blooming rose standing amidst a bed of withered blossoms. It's the touching beauty of life at its most exquisite, the surging anticipation, the reckless triumph, and the next day when you look for the rose you only find a withered stalk. Hell is hope.

Hell is the silent night torn apart by raging screams and flying furniture. Hell is the deafening wail of a child accompanying every insult, every furious, careless word that escapes your mouth. Hell is the empty threat he took as a promise. Hell is holding his hand and realizing it's no longer as comfortable as it used to be. Hell is the sadness weighing on your apartment, so palpable you could wrap your fingers around it and try to snap it--but you can't, because hell is already there. Hell is the silence, the eternal quiet screaming in your ears, as you pack your suitcase, as you stuff in old photographs trapped behind the cracked glass of their picture frames. It's the painful need to sit still and concentrate on breathing because you suddenly forgot how to. It's looking around you, seeing the stripped bed, the empty closet, the unsettling dust floating along the light filtering through the misted windows. Hell is falling out of love.

I could go on about hell forever, and I would never be able to enumerate all of them because there can only be so many words that can describe hell, and there are too many people in this world who see different kinds of hell. I cannot accurately define hell, I don't know much about it. I cannot claim to have seen hell, because I've never been to a place like it before.

But I know that hell is cold.

Because hell is not always made of fire.