Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 May 2016 PaintItGrey
Jude kyrie
my poetry has become
a seagulls cry
my soul is adrift
on a becalmed sea.
This sailors wife
knitted his death
into his sweater.
the sea shall swallow me
with its infinite greed.
The cloudless sky
will take my poems
and recite them
from a place on high.
the verses melt
to a single sound.
my poetry has become
a seagulls cry.
 May 2016 PaintItGrey
Flo
She has to be in the mood for poetry
Seeking comfort in the
Soothing melody of written words
Only reading in times of solitude
Where shed tears remain invisible

He needs to be in the mood for poetry
Hidden words inside his heart
Hoping to find fulfillment in his lines
Ongoing pain that has to be told
The ink stains left on his bare hands

We have to be in the mood for poetry
When solitude threatens to crush our heart
When pain needs to be expressed in lines
Over various boundaries of life
Poetry is a way to express ourselves
Tears these tears.
Falling like todays rain.
Tears so many tears.
Does it also know pain?
Tears my tears.
I guess I'll go outside.
Tears all these tears.
Maybe the rain these tears will hide.
Tears so,so many tears.
The rain continues to saturate all that is dry.
And these tears these inconsolable tears...
Now become a sobbing cry.
eyes closed
brain quiet
breathing slowed
body relaxed
heart full
 May 2016 PaintItGrey
Poetic T
Blink I know you can do it, there wasn't hard.
Now what was missed? time spent a second
or was it longer changing things in front of you
but your eyes were obstructed to sights beheld.

What was hidden behind in those shaded eclipses,
that where light shone in pools of  pearly white symmetry.
Each blink a new moon shone refreshed from the
form the same but born anew to the world.

We open and shut our visions our perceptions to both
unseen and visualized meanings. We blink inside the
moments, but miss what was unseen. What hides behind
what passes that we see, blink I know you can do it.
 May 2016 PaintItGrey
Traveler
And when they broke me
My heart never healed
My trust in society
Is what they killed
Life so easily wasted
By the lies
Of thugs and thieves
Another soul forsaken
   By your local Saint Police...
Let me paint a picture
With your body the canvas my tongue the brush
It will be a masterpiece
On these I'll never rush

Picasso or Rembrandt
will have nothing on me
Cause when we get together
I'll paint a tapestry

I'll sculpt a love out of clay
Made with hands of desire
And when it's done into the kiln it'll go
Stoked with passions fire

A poem I will write
As deep as oceans blue
It will be a tale of love
one about me and you

I would conduct a symphony
Music to your ears
I'll always be here to protect you
From your darkest fears

And when the angels come to take me home
When my time is through
I'll be the artist up in heaven
Painting in nothing but blue
 May 2016 PaintItGrey
Wanderer
I feel you in subtle trickles
At times a deluge
Words fall not on deaf ears
Just softly
The push and pull is palpable
Silky surfaces greeting imagined rough hands
You are used to dirt beneath their edges
Both are carried by the sounds of little feet behind us
Echoing the future of our old age
Trepidation lingers in the air between our breaths
If only we were more like moon shine
Straight forward
Less like skittish ponies
Can you dig?
Next page