Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Flita Fernandes May 2017
Do you still think of her as the first girl,
you met during college,
who would squeal your name to annoy you and shove you aside when challenged?
or the study partner that would sit with you till dawn because you procrastinated till the last moment.

Do you still think about her with longing,
when you remember the looks you’ve shared or the touches that bloomed?
or do you sigh with regret that the friendship you shared with her would be doomed.

Do you still look at her with amusement,
as she happily exclaims that she wants to ride shotgun,
while your friends groan?
or do you horribly sing along with her, as she tries to protest with an annoyed moan

Do you still think of her when you’re away,
her stupid annoying rants about world politics and cats that need to be rescued?
or do you think of me as a silent lover,
because I sure do think of you.
Flita Fernandes May 2017
Hold me tight,
your arms wrapped like vine
trace a kiss with your fingers
on those unkissed lips of mine

Grip me tighter,
the clock chimes at 3
I don't want to move
Cause then I’d want to take you with me

hug me goodbye,
you don’t look into my eyes
I have a thousand things to say
but a word from you would suffice

Miles away,
I weep and I write
but I always Wonder
if you still think of that night
Flita Fernandes Aug 2016
She dreams in shades of gold,
Speaking in tongues as her soul
runs naked, tumbling through the air,
Through fields of green and leaves in her hair.

She dreams in honey scented meadows,
Breathe in their nectar; rays against the window,
Twisting through the seasons like red wine,
While sunflowers raise their head to shine.

She dreams in the sunny winter breeze,
For her dreams to never cease.
Like the form of a never-ending snowfall,
And her will to live through all the odds.

She dreams in the early morning sun,
While the heat ends the blooming month,
Her fall; to burn while she crashes,
And yet to rise from renewed ashes.

She dreams in shades of gold,
As she stands on a dais of old,
Gold around her nape so bright,
Like thousands of candle lit from a single light.
this poem was like a little snippet in my mind while watching the olympics and it inspired me to write this piece, something I've written after a long writers block.
Flita Fernandes Mar 2016
The unexpected symphony,
Filled the empty darkness.
A violin, polished black ebony,
Poised beneath her whispered breath.

A raven ruffled its wings nearby,
Blending into the inky mass.
Beady eyes stared all around,
Unexpected audience, weeping sound.

Her fingers fumbled as she plucked the strings,
A sigh from luna, melancholy in the form of mist.
Constellations sewn into the blanket of stars,
The rusty strings sighing with an electric buzz.

Tragic symphony harmonized by broken yield,
For she plays her violin until her fingers bleed.
Flita Fernandes Mar 2016
Sometimes I have fluctuating thoughts on love. My short existence on earth could be the reason that I can't really comprehend this alien and thought provoking emotion.
But then reality came along and struck me with the demons of negativity and the fear of not being loved.
I truly felt that it was just a figment of our vivid imagination or just something that people bind themselves to, for a temporary cause.
But Seeing older couples who are so much in love always made me smile and wistful. I suppose moments like are the only reason I would ever want to grow old with someone.
It made me believe that love is about the heart, and not about the superficial aspects that inevitably change as we age.
I think it shows me that true love has the ability to endure the test of time. It was rather beautiful to see people utterly devote themselves to such a gentle sin.
Flita Fernandes Mar 2016
For an overthinking mind,
There has got to be a place,
In an unoccupied dimension.
Where time, a currency that pays

The greed of unsatisfied souls.
City lights veining along the shores
Of fresh dreams yet to come.
The seed of conscience lost underground.

Where the rose of doubt blooms.
And as her petals unfolds,
Darkness will seep to the core,
A kind of ecstasy curling the mind.

For the unknown empire that has seen no pages,
has been living through the history of time,
For I've succumbed into darkness,
Past the point of no return.
Next page