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Michael Frost Jul 2018
I live a lie,
So many faces have I.
Care to remind me, or to verify,
Which one I wear before your eye?
For, I would go ahead and try,
But little care I.
Michael Frost Mar 2018
My whole life I've looked from within.
Now, from outside, I gaze at the ruins.
The sultry summer winds whistle inside,
Motions of the ghosts of a fading love.
In broken glass, their faces reflect.
In the walls, their laughs echo,
Echoes of times once past.

Here,
Someone once meant something to someone.
Michael Frost Jan 2018
I feel like a small gift,
Wrapped in layer upon layer
Of shiny wrapping paper.
Now, it's being torn open,
Only to reveal that it was broken.
Michael Frost Dec 2017
Night, sitting by the window at home,
All alone, next to the phone, feeling like my heart is on loan.
Trapped, by my mind and its dark thoughts.
The truth, it ain’t ever fun, and I can’t even run!

Summer days, quickly ran away,
Took my heart and my pride.
Now I’m all torn up, can’t believe you lied!
Got me searching far and wide, just for some peace of mind.
I can’t bear to grieve, so please don’t leave!

I, can’t force myself to say,
Those three simple words, to this day, living my life in disarray.
The pain! Buried inside, deep below,
Oh! If only you would know!

Summer days, quickly ran away,
Took my heart and my pride.
Now I’m all torn up, can’t believe you lied!
Got me searching far and wide, just for some peace of mind.
I can’t bear to grieve, so please don’t leave!
Not exactly a poem, actually some song lyrics I wrote to the tune of Loboda's "Odnoy Masti."
Michael Frost Nov 2017
A small waterfall rushes down mossy stone
And bubbles all the while.

A chilly wind rushes through the trees
And gently rustles the last leaves of fall.

The morning birds song,
The leaves crunching beneath my feet.

A lively and pleasant conversation
On this sun-filled Autumn day.
Michael Frost Nov 2017
Who will remember
The days of those snowy Decembers?
Or the pale orange glow of fading embers
Under the canopy of dark timber.

Who will remember and be glad?
My, The Times we had.
Michael Frost Aug 2017
Photos of old,
Portals into a forgotten time.

Stomping feet upon fields of green,
Smiles and shining Eyes.

Where is the innocence?
Or the meaningless cares?
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