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Thrown in a black hole,
Named "His Love."
Years floating through darkness
Of dust and stars.
I have escaped.
I've seen the sun.
And for the first time,
It isn't you.
There's more to this,
This thing we call living.
Everyone's all about the take,
What happened to the giving?

We take what we can
And still we want for more.
Receive one or two of something
While wanting three or four


There's gotta be another way,
A way to be grateful.
But when we don't get what we want
Everyone acts so hateful

There's a feeling of being owned,
Before we've done anything
A song that needs to be sung
That we can't even sing


Lyrics to write down
To give our thanks and praise.
But instead we wallow,
Depressed for days and days.

*This might just sound like
A difficult way to live,
But wouldn't be great to take what we take
And give all we have to give.
Another wonderfully fun filled collab and poem with (The Girl Who Loved You)
 Sep 2014 Maria Villalta
KZ
//A C E.
 Sep 2014 Maria Villalta
KZ
She felt okay,
Thats what she had said.
She said she was  fine,
When really she was dead.
But then she felt every emotion when he was around,
Turning the frown she possessed upside down.
So when she told him "i love you",
To his face,
He couldn't help but resist because to him she was "ace".
Hello this poem is not my best...it is an old one! Hope you like it.
Share/like/comment ...thank you for liking and actually reading some of my poems.
Its a honour to write, even though I'm not that good.
~Khizara
 Sep 2014 Maria Villalta
Brianna
I want to be your sunset eyes, those blue skies, you're perfect starry night.
I want to be the shore kissed by the sea, I want to have everything causally, I want you and me.
I want to be the waves when they dance alone, the midnight tone, I want to be your back bone.
I want to be your perfect scent, your missed rent, those days you feel you need to repent.
I want you to listen to these cheesy rhymes, feeding me these sweet lines, be together all the time.
I want to be your dark brown hair, the place back when we didn't care, the memories only we share.

I want you in all the ways I can say.
I'll want you forever and always each and every day.
There are some qualities—some incorporate things,
  That have a double life, which thus is made
A type of that twin entity which springs
  From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.
There is a twofold Silence—sea and shore—
  Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,
  Newly with grass o’ergrown; some solemn graces,
Some human memories and tearful lore,
Render him terrorless: his name’s “No More.”
He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!
  No power hath he of evil in himself;
But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)
  Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,
That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod
No foot of man), commend thyself to God!
Sent to a friend who had complained that I was glad enough to see
him when he came, but didn't seem to miss him if he stayed away.

And cannot pleasures, while they last,
Be actual unless, when past,
They leave us shuddering and aghast,
With anguish smarting?
And cannot friends be firm and fast,
And yet bear parting?

And must I then, at Friendship's call,
Calmly resign the little all
(Trifling, I grant, it is and small)
I have of gladness,
And lend my being to the thrall
Of gloom and sadness?

And think you that I should be dumb,
And full DOLORUM OMNIUM,
Excepting when YOU choose to come
And share my dinner?
At other times be sour and glum
And daily thinner?

Must he then only live to weep,
Who'd prove his friendship true and deep
By day a lonely shadow creep,
At night-time languish,
Oft raising in his broken sleep
The moan of anguish?

The lover, if for certain days
His fair one be denied his gaze,
Sinks not in grief and wild amaze,
But, wiser wooer,
He spends the time in writing lays,
And posts them to her.

And if the verse flow free and fast,
Till even the poet is aghast,
A touching Valentine at last
The post shall carry,
When thirteen days are gone and past
Of February.

Farewell, dear friend, and when we meet,
In desert waste or crowded street,
Perhaps before this week shall fleet,
Perhaps to-morrow.
I trust to find YOUR heart the seat
Of wasting sorrow.
 Sep 2014 Maria Villalta
Auss
I wage war
That's never been seen before
Is sanity worth fighting for?
I'm not really sure

Insanity?
A calamity?
I call it individuality!

Who is Society
To create this hypocrisy?!?
It seems like such a tragedy
To waste such ingenuity
To dull the creativity
you were fleeting
gone
in an instant
but you left scars
on my heart
and in my head
and I don't think
they'll ever fade
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