listen to the distant
remain of your
dreams are compressed into
orbs of light,
carefully placed inside
an empty box;
leave your house and search the
idle sands of time for me,
x marks the spot.
i was thinking of writing a poem from a name. this one was one of my favorites. //leonardo calix//
But offered you
The key to my soul as you wanted
And watched you scrunch through
As I see me
is all i hear from you
Did my pain infest you ?
Do you now detest me ?
Tell me that I'm fine
Or at least worth it
To be loved and to love
Whatever that is these days...
Time may heal all wounds but all wounds still leave scars
There once was a man a bit boring
who found a magic word that open boxes;
he thought it was fun
to opening any box untill
the magic word "please" open the pandora's box.
Here is my first liemrick ever. ©A B Faniki 7/17/2019. Is about caution, even when doing good or fun things. The poem is also writing for kid to learn about saying pleasse.
He took a seat
beside me and held
out his hand
A smile crinkled
at the side of his
deep hazel eyes
The sound of
was lost under the
noise of the engine
as the train
but I sat stilled
as his lips moved
I felt the swell
of my chest
as I could
feel my breath
moving and in
and out of my
as a smile smothered
my whole face
I could see a small
box peeking from
the pocket of his
trousers and my
my heart welcomed
with complete faith
token of love that I
would soon be gifted.
Being trapped in your own head
Being inside that small little box of crazy thoughts
Crazy thoughts that are controlling you
Controlling your actions, your vision, your sight
What is going on within this space
I'm surrounded with surface to mind missiles
Missiles that are being launched at the very core of my psyche
My once, sain psyche, has been riddled with oddly soothing thoughts
Thoughts that I believe I could enjoy if I could only accept
Accept the new and strange patterns of the mind-numbing weirdness
Weirdness so overwhelming that, my little mind box, is about to overload
I need to wake up...!
Brian Hill - 2019 # 167
Sometimes your mind take your words somewhere else...
As a I girl, I had
a small music box,
which I played over and over.
I wound it up,
and the ballerina inside
would spin and spin,
her dance and the song
a simple embrace of youth.
There are versions of myself
that I have long since forgotten,
long since forsaken.
The rhythm will find you,
make you into someone new.
But this tune brings me back,
to the little girl
who spent hours watching ballerinas dance.
I’ll put your love into a box
One where only I have the key
When asked, “How do you open the box?”
I’ll smile and say, “It’s only for me”
Upon a hilltop deep in the woods, there lies an iron box. Red and rough. They say that all the worlds secrets lay in this iron box. But no one knows for sure. Many have tried to open this box, all have failed. Men and woman. Boy and girls. All have tried to open this box. There is nothing to show for it though. Not even the tiniest of scratches have been left on the box by all the tools that have been used to try to open it. Today there is yet another crowd surrounding the red rough box that lays on the hilltop deep within the woods. People with axes and crowbars try their luck. Still, the box remains whole. A young boy makes his way through the crowd and stands before the box. An older man chuckles at him and holds out his crowbar. "Want to try?" asks the man.
The boy shakes his head and steps closer to the box. Gently he lowers his hand on to the top of the box, his eyes flutter closed. The box glows under his hand. The soft yellow light flows over the box until the whole thing is glowing that soft yellow. A click sounds and the boy pushes the top of the box off. The whole crowd is silent as they watch the boy. How he opened the box with a gentle touch.
"How did you do that?" the man with the crowbar exclaims to the boy.
"I just asked the box to open." the boy responds before he slips his way back through the crowd away from the box.
Quickly the crowd pushes and shoves, trying to get closer to the box to see what is inside the box. What the world's secrets are. But when they get to the box all they see is a single white feather.
Let me take your eyes, I'll
give you my teeth.
Who wants brown rot? You.
Wheat speckled emerald
Just one of the things
I love about your face.
Out of the box, out of the realm,
she is heart to my sword and my helm.
Bowl of the bread, bowl on her head,
she permits me the grand privilege:
learning her will, learning her pain,
learning her joy and her disdain,
lines into dimples, lines into jowls,
lines of a smile and lines of a scowl.