Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Broken old gravel
Not a fixed sight for travel
Masked faces
Walking to every lonely places
Not a beauty of buildings sites
Just living in horror and full of fright
 Jul 2015 pixelstar
abby jordan
if only
the love we feel in our hearts
could be revealed
by looking through a telescope
as in the way we look at the stars
if only
the memories we make
and the moments we live
could be replayed over and over
like rewinding a video cassette
or moving the record needle back a bit
if only
the things we touch
can be touched again
just as many times as our delicate fingers tap the piano keys
if only
the awe inspiring and extraordinary sights we see
can be seen once again
by flipping through the pages of a book
each image on each page
if only
the things that we hear
which are not exactly on itunes
or digitally saved
could be heard again
each individual sound and created song
sung by the birds
the next morning
if only
senses
feeling
memories
moments
life
could be this easily relived.



-a.r.
 Jul 2015 pixelstar
Nirmalee
Sometimes I just like to stare at the stars
They make my problems look really petty.
Can you still hear the music my heart is making?
Gentle and clear.
I see you.
I feel you.
I need you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.

Because...

All I can hear now is the beat of your heart-
Loud and firm.
**I see her.
I feel her.
I need her.
I love her.
I love her.
I love her.
I love her.
I love her.
Not you.
It's been awhile since i posted something happy here but now that all i could feel is brokeness.. i couldn't fill my pages with words to mend a broken heart.
 Jul 2015 pixelstar
Sarah
The piano is singing
below your hands
and I can hum in
tune

I love to be a channel
playing refrain,
under
you

and still the drums
beat slowly
while I'm
masked in your
perfume

acoustic stringing
tenderly
beneath the
chiming moon.
 Jul 2015 pixelstar
R
Untitled
 Jul 2015 pixelstar
R
His laugh is the most adorable thing I've ever heard and
I simply cannot get enough of it.
I could listen to him laugh all **** day... I mean "****". (Inside jokes are the best, aren't they?)
 Jul 2015 pixelstar
Cecil Miller
At times, your flotsom and jetsom gets to me.
Mostly, I think you're beautiful.

At times, I look at you and want to ask,
"Why are you in a frantic, frothing frenzy?"

At times, I exclaim, "Really? Come on! I mean, come on! How bad is it, really?"...

At times, you storm away.

At times, I wonder if you are worth the aggrivation.

At times, I don't think I deserve you.
I wrote this, just now, on this url, from my small, but smart phone the first thing this morning. March 14, 2015.
 Jul 2015 pixelstar
Sam
Penis.
 Jul 2015 pixelstar
Sam
Poetry is like a *****
in its wobbly, dangly freeness
(This poems not the cleanest so stop reading if you're a little squeamish)

Some have it, some don't
some use it, some won't
some like it awkward with a twist at the end
like a shakespearean couplet but on the person it depends

for others its merely secondary
(oh but always necessary)
to the holder - their Mars or Venus
So, as god is my witness,
poetry is a *****
Love came.
Love left.
It was romantic.
It was ugly.
He gave her a rose.
That was half dead and bought for $2.99.
She took it and smiled.
She allowed herself.
He kissed her.*
She kissed him, knowing it would be the last time he saw her.
Help me come up with a real title to this???
Next page