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Leanne Nov 18
Words have been left unspoken, like blank pages in a book.
I keep flipping through the pages, to take another look.
I find the words unwritten; they've never stained the page.
It's only you who can see them, only you know this silent rage.
The years that have been passing, fleeting swiftly by,
Our words left unspoken from our mouths, have been spoken through our eyes.
No one knows the magnitude the unspoken has been to bare.
It's crazy to believe there was another one out there who truly cared.
The unspoken words we've hidden deep inside our hearts,
This has made such an impact on me, as you've been the vital part.
In the silence of the unspoken, you still show that you care.
The brush of your hand, a smile, a gentle hug lets me know you're still there.
This unspoken that's always flowing, yet not heard or seen,
We both know the unspoken is there, but never speak of what it means.
In the quiet, our unspoken waits, never asking or never loud.
Our unspoken is strong and steady, even when the unspoken's not allowed.
Justination Oct 5
In the cradle of dawn where the shadows play
A child awakes to the world's bright array
With laugh like ripples on a sun-kissed stream
Imagination unfolds like a vibrant dream

Tiny hands grasp at the stars in the sky
Each moment an adventure as days' flurry by
With nature as canvas, they paint with delight
In a kingdom of wonder, all senses take flight

Then the youth comes a calling, a tornado in bloom
With eyes full of fire and a heart like a plume
Chasing the sunsets on roads made of hope
Struggling with shadows, learning to cope

It's the thrill of first love, the ache of goodbyes
The forging of dreams beneath changing skies
With leagues to explore and the world on their chest
In the chaos of passions, they long for the rest

And then to adulthood where the seasons intertwine
With roots that run deep and ambitions that shine
Responsibilities weigh like a cloak on the soul
As we balance our dreams with the weight of our goal

The laughter of children, the warmth of a home
In the threads of life, we are never alone
Through trials and triumphs, in joy and in strife
We knit a rich curtain, this beautiful life

Each phase flows like water, a river divine
Carving paths through the mountains, leaving old-age design
From the innocence of youth to wisdom's embrace
Life's ever-changing dance is a timeless grace

So here's to the journey with each turn of age
From child to adulthood, we all share the stage
In the heart of existence, phase by phase
We find the pure magic in life's winding maze
Amanda Kay Burke Sep 2023
One billion stories
With thousands of pages filled
Are we but paper?
Everything is temporary
ag Aug 2023
I always write every thoughts and every words that would come up in my head on any of my blank pages.

But this time, I stopped writing my thoughts and had not touched my blank pages anymore.

Because, I’m afraid I’ll write about you again.
Savio Fonseca Aug 2023
My Time has not yet arrived,
So I'm staying a bit Longer.
My Health has not yet cracked,
perhaps I'm a little bit Stronger.
My Mind still keeps on ticking
and it's sharp....as it can Be.
I've so many things, yet to Do.
For now, I'm a Sailor out at Sea.
My Life keeps on turning,
like the Pages of a Book.
But the Time has not yet come.
For Life to hang Me on a Hook.
I'm wary of the Silent Storm.
That may hit Me during the Night.
I'll fight it like a Braveheart.
Until the Dying Light.
Pr nandni Jan 2022
Sometimes it's better to leave the pages BLANK
Sometimes the BEST is to not EXPRESS everything,
Let your emotions be wrapped beneath TRUST
Put your LOVE on the lap of future,
Let it BORN with peace.

Don't sum yourself up in ONE word,
Just LEAVE the pages blank.
Leave it blank
When I think of life,
I see an empty canvas ready to be painted upon,
or open blank pages that are waiting to be written on.
A baby is born, their first words in a book say;
"where am I?"
"what is this world"
"this is so cool"
or some babies have an anxiety
"bring me back into mothers womb?"
"I' am scared, what is this?"
But as you say, they do not know how to speak our language, maybe not by tongue but in their little cubicle minds...they have a language we once understood then only time could tell....
When I think of life,
I see empty pages and canvases waiting to be spilled onto,
but some art dusty and rusty, gone through 0-100 and have no space left but to die and leave it to the rest, because all those pages have been fulfilled.
Life carries on, into the next barrier of a woman's womb...and that is truly where the first page starts, or the first speck of paint draws...into the ****** of a fruitful woman most babies will call their mother.
Life and death
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