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Sep 2014 · 1.7k
A Morning with Sentiment.
grace Sep 2014
At the dawn of a new day
During the morning's first blush,
I sat with Sentiment.  
Who was in the past,
And at this time, wonderfully affectionate.
You see, Sentiment and I,
Have always been companions,
When we were together he'd always hold my hand and
He always held tight when he held that hand
To show, I won't be abandoned.
"You're sweet." He said
He bowed his head and added
"Sweet as roses."
You can imagine my roseate cheeks then,
Suddenly flushed with the pigment
Of a high-colored rose.
And my smile fighting to be as wide
As the world and all the emotion felt
Between the lovers
And the lovers who couldn't handle
The cards being dealt.
But not sentiment and I.
I look towards him,
I smiled as I replied,
"Nothing is that sweet."
May 2014 · 259
Blind Evil
grace May 2014
I believe you
but it hurts because i try so hard to
i trust you, i love you
but my soul unfortunately has always been infatuated with pain
hurt has found me,
time and time again.
never in my most excruciating nightmares, have you been the cause
i have yet to learn,
how to put the thoughts on pause.
but there is no way to easily stop
the hurt I've again come across, the bitterness that is now inside of you.
if you had the chance, would you still-
grab my hand, or love me, not only depending on our goodwill?
kiss me, to the day you no longer love me, just until?
if, come a day, you no longer love me...
please do not run with me to a place only we know.
but if we have the chance we can-
leave the bad things behind.
lets go to a place,
they'll never find,
a place where the evil is blind.
May 2014 · 342
Poems unfinished
grace May 2014
Poems unfinished
Lying still with dust collecting
On the curves of every A, B, C.
Crying out to hold more meaning and passion
being incomplete has never been in fashion.
May 2014 · 273
Untitled
grace May 2014
Is writing countless rhymes above lines much more still than their writers hands have ever been,
nearly enough to show my affections?
I try putting action to words, so my poems become more than dried ink,
more than something you've only heard
but how can I show you what you cannot see in the mirror?
In what way can i prove to you  your perfection is intoxicating.
Countless smiles you've created throughout all the time we have dated
My cares for anything but you, have faded.

— The End —