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SG Holter Mar 2015
So, yeah.
This would all have been a lot easier
If I didn't have the heart of a

Poet.
But I'll say this: Please love to learn,
So we can have *** with

Semicolons in as suggestive a
******* as they would imply. I know
I lost my innocence to an

Adjective, but didn't we all?
There's no room for jealousy in
Poetry,

We just rhyme and give the rhyme
Time to define, and aline with the
Rhythm to create a devine

Relaxationary artpiece to be consumed
By any reader who would find the
Time to entwine with a sentence

Or line, and use'em to maybe just
Describe the feeling of a hand
On the face of a man as myself, who

Has written so much of the things one
Can touch, that he looks at the world
As a man that a girl

Can tell: Look at me, and say all
You can see is the face of Eternity.

I am that man, with a pen in his hand,

And you could say it, but I surely  
Know it: My body's a worker's.
My soul is a poet's.
Ria Hinautan  Jul 2013
Artpiece
Ria Hinautan Jul 2013
I saved them. Chewed up broken into pieces.
Used once then left behind.
Just crayons of bright colors blending into shade of a memory I keep with me.
The hearts I colored in with red
I've scratched them out until the colors became heavy and broke through the paper.
I've created this piece.
Destroyed this beautiful memory.
And Im left with holes and a dark shade of black.
sophie mechaune  Mar 2018
words
sophie mechaune Mar 2018
I hate when I run out of words.

I love that easy interplay of syllables with you,
the sounds that fold our faces into laughter
& keep out eyes focused on each other.
Our minds are as deep as the waters
and our thoughts as numbered as the stars.
We are creatures of consciousness.
We link our imaginations with each conversation
to paint an artpiece that can be only ours.
Your mind and mine are connected.
We say what we do to explore who we are
who we have been
who we will be

I hate when I run out of words,

but at least it won't be for long.
for jnd
CharlesC  Apr 2018
ART
CharlesC Apr 2018
ART
art provides a glimpse
of eternal reality
pointing to our identity
an identity that seemed hidden
until an artpiece parts the curtain..
and the curtain itself now glows
as it has always glowed behind
our curtained perceptive...

— The End —