Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
love,
love,
Your heart fits mine like a glove,
I'm going to put you on top,
Way way above,
My love for you will never stop,
We will fly away like one dove,
I wanna fly away,
But at the same time I need to stay,
Love me forever,
Or hate me for now,
Your heart is my pleasure,
Time for us to connect when I say this vow,
My love for you is like wow.
 Aug 2014 Hannah Jean
thrcy
Kiss them once & never let your lips touch theirs
Tell them all these sweet & lovely things, & act like everything you told them was just a lie
Make eye contact with them, but look through their eyes full of regret
See them everyday, pretend they never existed & look right through their souls
Embrace them & then never touch their skin again
Hold their hand & make sure to leave them wanting more
Make all these good memories with them & leave them hanging like the past few months meant nothing to you
Talk to them every day & let them be part of your daily routine, then one day just completely ignore them & never talk to them ever again
There are days
when the rain seems
like nothing more
than inconvenience,
and puddles, messes,
and noise.

More often than not, though,
the rain has been a friend,
a companion of sorts.

It has lessened the
loneliness in moments
of grief and despair,
as it shared in
inconsolable
and silent tears.

It has covered me
like a warm blanket,
as it washed away
the fears.

More often than not,
the rain has been
a path to renewal,
a baptism most sacred.

Even the melody
and timber of the rain
has often soothed me,
like white noise
can comfort a
restless child.

The rain can consume
and wash out
and drown,
pushing unwanted
memories and dreams
down an any-named road,
for miles and miles.

For me, more often
than not,
it provides shroud
and cover from the sun’s
intense heat,
inspiring gratitude
and most joyful
smiles.



~ by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
 Aug 2014 Hannah Jean
Iris Rebry
It's been a while
Since I opened my lips,
And wrote the sweet words
With a voice that drips,
Sincerity.
Clarity.
Charity,
Hardly ever disdain in this voice
Of mine,
But plenty of it,
In the race of mankind.
It's been a spell
Since I wrote poetry well,
And where's my mind?
Neither in heaven nor in hell.
But on poetry,
How sublime
Next page