Leelan Farhan: Favorites

Jun 2013 Leelan Farhan

hypocrite

Jun 2013 Leelan Farhan

mc

I seem to write about
love
a lot
for someone
who's only felt
someone else's
lips on mine
once

I guess that makes me
sort of a hypocrite
preaching all this love
when I have never
felt love
myself

this isn't really a poem it's just me criticizing myself I guess

Jun 2013 Leelan Farhan

I am not a stranger. (Haiku poetry)

Jun 2013 Leelan Farhan

Gene

I am not a stranger. (Haiku poetry)

I am a writer
I never was a fighter
words are my weapon

First ever haiku poem - 6 June 2013

© June 2013 E. Little

Haiku poems date from 9th century Japan to the present day. Haiku is more than a type of poem; it is a way of looking at the physical world and seeing something deeper, like the very nature of existence.A haiku poem consists of three lines, with the first and last line having 5 moras, and the middle line having 7. A mora is a sound unit, much like a syllable, but is not identical to it. Since the moras do not translate well into English, it has been adapted and syllables are used as moras.

Jun 2013 Leelan Farhan

Untitled

Jun 2013 Leelan Farhan

Anubis the Philosomancer

Untitled

Why the **** does it take so long
for certain changes to be made?
Save yourself a load of trouble
and learn from my mistakes;
Take my heartfelt advice:

Change yourself always.
Don't wait for the breaking point.
Change yourself always;
Think critically about why you do what you do,
as well as what you don't do.
Change yourself always:
lest the change itself break you down.

Change is inevitable;
Flux with it
or be fluctuated

Jun 2013 Leelan Farhan

Simply Put

Jun 2013 Leelan Farhan

Axiana

Simply Put

I won't get discouraged
Travelling this far why would I?
I won't listen to the urges
That push me away from taking flight

Jun 2013 Leelan Farhan

Stain mine

Jun 2013 Leelan Farhan

Olga Valerevna

Stain mine

Was freshly laid upon the b e d
a pillow rested 'neath her h e a d
And it was colored black and b l u e
recounting days involving y o u
Your story she had never h e a r d
yet seemed to swallow every w o r d
And in her sleep she made it k n o w n
that she was gone but not a l o n e
And when your hand would turn the p a g e
she'd once again endure the r a g e
The sheets you used to cover u p
was metaphor for all the l u s t
But one day soon she will be b l e d
be freshly laid upon the b e d