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Night’s open black book,
Tells million stories of light;
Ever expanding!
I don't put myself out there
Into the sea of society
Fear gets the best of me
My insecurities make me think
That something's wrong with me
I fail to make a connection
to the world outside of me

I feel like I'm drowning
When you talk to me
My mind oversimplifies
Your body language
My eyes don't meet yours
In fear you might read  
The book beyond
The first word

I guess I wouldn’t mind
Falling deep
Within my thoughts
But I’m tormented
By the void inside

I’ve been thinking about you
So I’m hanging on
So what’s this new feeling
My spirit’s gone
But my heart is not
Never leave my side
Never leave my love
Luvanna 1d
Musics ringing
Lights dancing
You'll find me on the dancefloor
Probably no
If you're sure you're my fate
And more than just my destiny
Find me in the smoking room
With a glass of orange juice
And 'The Great Gatsby' novel by the other hand
You won't bother to tell the others
Where you met the love of your life
japheth 2d
a conversation.
planning to write a book filled with all the pieces i wrote here and there with my cousin who writes too.
She lay and wait by the tree
reading her exciting book.
She felt a chilly breeze
at her face as the trees shook.

Intrigued in her reading,
she read how the town was saved
and everyone was happy at the end
and new beginnings were paved.

She look at her watch
and couldn't believe the time!
It was 11:00,
and the bus was supposed to be at 9.

She was engrossed in her book,
she completely missed the bus.
Now when she will have to walk home
and her mother will make a fuss!
mc ish Nov 30
you cannot fix
what wont let itself be broken
you are darling and you are daring but so much more than that
you are kind
my lord are you kind
endless in your extinguishing of the flames by which you were burnt
**** wouldve frozen over when you hurt someone that way
a child seeking shelter in the storm is not responsible for the care its given
selfless and hopeless in the sense of your heart being your own
you lend it out like library books
borrowed and scoffed and altogether ripped apart at the amusement of them
yet i will always await its return
i hope you see
you dont have to let yourself burn to light up a room
and you are not responsible for keeping others warm
take your heart into your own hands
i wish you understood friend
Steve Page Nov 28
I love the warm smell more than baked bread.
I love the old stories flooding back through my head.
I love the middle-age chatter, with child like mutters,
finding old favorites in old familiar covers.

I love the personalised fountain-penned message,
carefully scribed and meticulously dated.
I don't care about the number of dog eared pages,
or the tell-tale signs of well worn aging.

Tea stains and small tears - they don't bother me,
each tell a new tale beyond what I can see.
I love the weight of the years sitting in my hand,
I love the tether to past lives multi- second-hand.

With memories of libraries with warm worn carpets,
wall to wall adventures and sun faded artists,
battered yellow seats, shooshed conversations,
quietly spoken protests at the books being rationed.

I stayed past closing, riding trains of free thought
with Tin Tin, Asterix and old Mrs Pepperpot.
I'm still drawn to the pages and the feeling inside
second-hand stories where memories reside.
My dad taught me to love reading. My kids learnt it for me.
Azurel M Nov 28
He was pale as death,
running down like an over-wound clock
Beneath his eyes,
dark signs of sleeplessness tumbled short of his dreams.
The pale gold odor of his lips,
Parted with a series of beginnings.
He was confounded with wonder at her presence
That voice held him most
Swathed in rose and lavender silk
The darker, well-kept expanse of his suppressed eagerness blazed with light.
His eyes,
a deep tropical burn,
on fire like the World’s Fair
remotely possessed by intense life
like a trembling match
stained with creative passion

He searched for her night and day
The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic rain
a deathless song
a faint flow of thunder
he followed the sound of it into the thick folds of the sky.
her well-loved eyes,
smeared with tears,
glistening drops smashed into pieces on the floor
Standing in a puddle of mid-summer flowers
Bright ecstatic smile on the edge of pouring rain
Its fluctuating, feverish warmth,
full of aching grieving beauty,
told of unexpected joy
Are you in love with me?
Found poem from The Great Gatsby
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