Sketches depicted in common words.
Paint almost Godly photographs.
Describes in words.
The fire of chill.
And heat alike.
Colours and hues.
The wind of force and the controlling pain.
Vibrancy and dismal dull.

Words that give us thoughts to mull over.
Singing the blues.
All the nib of a pen gives.
The pen that lives.
Those words of scribes.
Passionate pens make love and battle.
Of rampant *** and magic hex.

Power of the simple word.
Build mountains and magnificent fountains.
All by description.
Love fires out from an exploding pen.
Memories written.
Never wasted.
Not ever forgotten.
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

the gardens weep
in the moonlight
because she has gone away.
a pale sliver of a finger
waivers in a pond reflection.
a specter-
  the stars have become
pearl spilled tears
and the roses tremble in dew
because of the absence,
her absence-
felt so wholly.
the world fades quietly
with her white body
under ground
...
although that is where she lay
(she has gone away)

A staff of a million skeletons will attend to you today.
Should you become unwell.
The walking dead will sort you out upon these festive days.
Hark,
Listen hard.
You can hear their bony feet clacking on the ward floors.
No ears to hold their scopes, nor neck to dangle tubes upon.
Missing eyes in hollow socket space.
Surgery out of the question.
Without eyes much too dangerous to mention.
No visual assessments.
Palpate your belly.
Icy fingers scratch.
Always have cold hands.
Write their ward reports in blood.
That which once was yours.
They keep it in a cookie jar.
Fed with anti-coagulants.
Last time you were admitted.
Stashed away for the ill to use exclusively on Christmas day.

The nurses are worn out.
Fingers worn down to the bone.
Listen once again as all those patients moan.
A cold bed bath.
The nurses hands are sorely chilled.
Had no time to eat today.
Only one or two around.
That's all the staff they found.
The angels became bones.
No time for their breaks.
While festive moments are magic.
Only get ill if you must.
Won't be very long before the staff turn into dust!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

I look in the mirror,
and what do I see?
Bitter disappointment
staring back at me.

It seems no matter
what I do,
I just can't seem
to get through to you.

I'm clawing away
at what's left of me.
and people won't let
the pieces be.

I shed those pieces for a reason.
I'm sick of being stuck in this rainy season.
Walking around with a cloud above my head.
Sometimes I think I'd much rather be dead.

Sometimes...

You wish you could relive those moments
You know when things felt new and fresh
That first kiss remembered but hoping its not the last
The time you spend when you are apart wondering when youll see them again
That love is else where wishing you could tame it
Not meant to be trapped in a mind torturing fantasy

If I were a bird,
I would follow you
Along the spring of your step
Your hair bouncing when you walk
Notice the things that make you laugh
Hoping my tiny flutters
made you smile
and when you looked worried
or heavy hearted
I would sing you my song
and carry you away