Shallow depths sink  
             wayward thoughts.
But the corpses of butterflies
       still collapse inwards,
as the reaper collects dead imprecations.

                      Burying them deeper
                       so never to be exhumed.

A collection of ‘Love is…’ Poetry
Banana


Love is a collection of thoughts.
Random thoughts,
In tandem thoughts.
Love is a collection of thoughts.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

he left himself loose,
in beauty's collected works;
returned enlightened

Within the silence of violence
            we are collecting our words,
that fall like tears that never reach  
         a point where there meant
                                            to mean something.


But with every emotion that collects
             only every silent voice.
   They scream within the void of nothingness,
as no one listens to the bombs caressing upon us.

Within every collection that falls on every
                            restrained voice that is void less.
          Beneath the rubble, of those who's blind anger
falters against those they have never vocalized words.

"But still tears of pain cry downwards.
             "silencing all with there silent voice of discontent.

What do I do with this blank space
I always have something to say
But today that's not the case

What do I do with empty page
Maybe I can use it to get out of this cage
Maybe I can use it to escape this rage

What shall I do with this unwritten story
Maybe I can write words that will help them speak of my glory
Maybe my words will go down in  herstory

What do I do with this bare canvas
Maybe it can bring joy and stop me from being anxious
And maybe it will get rid of all this worldly madness

What do I do on this earth that's not my home
Acquire a defiant syndrome
Or stay hidden under a dome
Forever alone?

The day of my freedom, clearly unknown

I was woven in the collection
of your weaving. But was I the
illegitimate thread of so many
stitches that were woven incorrectly.

But within the faults,weren't there
patterns that were unique to the fashion
of what were meant as perfection.
But was perfection diluted beyond sight.

every creature
has his own
unique
collection of fears

show me yours
please