18h Cné

A shade of clear caresses red
dabbed upon each aching edge
a sweetened birch lies ever near
await mere embers to appear

In holy rest her amber hue
a roseate glow paints such a view
gentle strokes do pass and glide
pure color beats and breathes inside

With light and shade a vision lives
in moves and shapes a feeling gives
a pensive air floats through each brush
as passion seeks her loving touch

I was never good at math 36-24-36? it all adds up to perfection in my eyes.
  1d Cné

I think it'd be better that way
Maybe I should just do it this time
The reason?
No matter how hard I try,
I'm still not good enough
Not good enough for my friends
Not good enough for my boyfriend
I'm not even good enough for my own family
Maybe my brother won't resent me when I'm gone
Maybe my sister will understand that I was trying to help her
Maybe my boyfriend will realize that there was someone better.
I should just do it
Because no matter how hard I try
I'll never be good enough
To make the people I care about

I really don't think anyone would stop me if I did it. No one would find out until it was too late.
Cné 2d

If a pirate has a peg for a leg
And a stool has a leg for a peg  
Now... would they be brothers
From different mothers
Riddle me this ... I do beg.

A pirate limerick in honor of Pirate's Day!
  2d Cné

Infinite parts of the whole
That can never absolutely know
Wandering in human forms
Pulling away from the swarm

Where is it next that you shall go
Carrying with you
Your Poetic Soul
What awaits you
In the shadows of passing
In the darkness of everlasting

Traveler Tim

I used to write a lot of poems online.
They'd trend, attract followers, etc.
I thought I'd publish a book one day,
People seemed to like reading my stuff.
But, eventually, as most fame does,
my 15 minutes wore off.
I started getting less likes,
Less comments,
Less recognition for my work.
And I guess it made sense
Because I wasn't writing as much
Or spending as much time editing.
So I read through my old poems
To see if I just got worse
Or if there was some underlying reason
For my loss of popularity.
And soon, I began to realize
The only poems I wrote
Were ones of heartbreaks and sadnesses;
Poems of woes and loneliness.
So I wondered to myself
"What changed?"
And saw that I wasn't writing as much
Because I wasn't as sad as I was
When my peotry flowed more smoothly.
I didn't need writing as an outlet
To cope with my pain.
It's not that my life got much better,
(It didn't at all)
But I was learning to continuously find things
To be happy about;
And less to write my
Depressing monologues about.
I had begun to move on with my life
And teach myself that bad days are unavoidable,
It's how we react to them
That determines how we feel.
I used to write a lot of poetry.
But now,
I live it.

- p. winter

  3d Cné

I would lay you down
On a bed of deep green heather
As autumn leaves fall


Boreal Forest in September Autumn
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