Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I want my words to be beautiful.
Beautiful like yours.
I want to see ordinary things,
Find the magic in them,
And put the magic on a page, for everyone to understand.

I want to have a way with words.
I want every poem of mine
To become a masterpiece.
Just like yours.

I am not broken.

But you are.

You see the world through pain,
And pain makes the colors brighter.
It makes the value of feelings
Climb higher.

Sometimes I wonder
If I should be broken like you
If I want my words to resonate
Like yours.

Sometimes I wonder,
If it will be truly worth it
In the end.

I wonder what it will be like,
To cut myself up to pour out the beauty inside me.

Just like you.

I imagine that you
Raise the blade
Slice your feelings open
And write your masterpiece
In red.
Can only sad people write good poems? Can only broken people find inspiration in anything?
My head is heavy
My brain is foggy
only your face is clear
I kiss your cheeks, forehead, lips
I laugh so brightly
Nothing could bring me down in this moment
You are my pinnacle
My love of a lifetime
You bring me joy
but you also bring me pain
once you are gone I feel empty
I crave you again and again
You're addictive, my love
and that can't be healthy
but I couldn't care less
because when I'm with you
I feel high
and happy
and free
And I wouldn't give that up for anything
Because I love what you do to me.
Let us be
Two birds
sitting on a power-line
watching the sun setting
And all the gloom
Witnessing the colourful sky
And the bloom
You fly away
I call you back
Conceit and vanity
is what you lack
Very far
From the world
And all it's reek
Love in hearts
And truth
on beaks.
A poem written for my bestfriend. You'll always stay there in my heart.
We were in the eagle's chariot
A collection, all of us
We were riding the eagle's chariot
every last one of us

The earth was a cartoon sphere
With silly farm squares
Drawn there, and drawn here
  We were zooming into,
We were focusing upon
hills and hamlets
of my verdant youth.



The Light
The sky was in two. The light behind us. The light of June 21st. The longest light.
The light of 8:46 pm. It becomes antique light at that point, light that should not be around Light stolen from somewhere. Pleasant and eerie.
We were retreating from that light.



We flew westward on the eagle's chariot. "The West is The Best"
Looking westward, The sky was dark and decaying
The bruise of the summer storm loomed in the distance.
Western wind ruffled eagle feathers
A screech went off across the land
meeting and bouncing off the scattered towers
as the storms and their ally, twilight
stake their claim upon the embers
of the wanning year



Three times we circled a stone church
Then on to an old yellow house
The others on the chariot
Were seeing their churches
and their houses



We never met the decay
Nor did we fully leave
The solstice light



We held so fast
That way...till
Half-dying July
 Aug 2015 Karla Cronje
Zoromir
I might be numb

to the world,

but I feel you 
so vividly
 Aug 2015 Karla Cronje
Vn Carlos
So real your lips sipping mine,
So long the streets that traversed our time,
So low the stairs of white tiles and blue lines,
So fast the red van that turns as we panic,
So clear the events and it was sublime,
So untrue the dream was, it was a manic.  . .
So close to being real, but it's just a dream ,we cannot have it.
Vn13©2010

— The End —