In this imaginary world where we can escape from reality.

I am the ruler of my own kingdom.

Who ever reads my pieces lives through every story.

You shall take part in my mission to shape this kingdom to rule over this world.

Like every ruler needs, I need someone to be my adviser.

Will you be that someone?

I'm really not a poet
But I do love to write
My words are pretty simple
And that exemplifies my life

I've never chased a dollar
But hard work's a faithful friend
Let no one think "he's lazy"
When the light of day's at end

Everything I've ever wanted
Live between these walls
And if I slip a little bit
I've a few good friends to call

Darkness had nothing for me
Just left me lonely, cold, and black
I learned to count my blessings
Not curse the things I lack

I believe in Christian values
But I don't always do what's right
I just do my best, repent the rest
And keep walking in the light

You may shiver at words,
They are the interpretation
Of all pain, fear,
Love.
But as the leaves fall like ash
From a charcoal sky,
It is known that there may be no more days
To admit my love for you.

i don’t want to hear about your former heart
don’t want to memorize the lines of the faces that betrayed you
strip down from your past
down to your brittle bones
claw your resentful hands into my bare flesh
and show me why you’ve learned to flinch at love
i don’t want to hear about your boyfriends
girlfriends
don’t wanna know where it went awry
i want to be the curse that runs you dry
sink my teeth into your apathy,
fill the empty crevices in your bed with yet another allegory
eviscerate the plot for another horrorific love story
make your memories shiver
as we fill each other - we quiver
cause i don’t want to hear about
know about -
the skin or soul before me
it’ll be irrelevant
when we make the ground split with our calls
and the earth will stand still as you exhale that godly breath
don’t wanna hear about your former heart

A hidden closet piques my interest as I fall through time and space,
Clammy hands clasp the white hot memoirs of the past.
Unable to let go I slip faster than before
Addicted to the memories of things long ago.
The wrong I'm feeling caused by all unknown,
Pressure threatening to crush the feelings I own.
I have found the wall I built,
And crashed past the breaking point.
Lost with no direction,
I search for meaning--
Seeking out Orion
So I can live among the stars.

Poems and Reading is the center of the earth and sanity it's self.
~Kat Herondale

The ink in my pen runs freely,
Staining the wood with new varnish,
Changing what was once beautiful
Into a blossoming masterpiece.

Seeing the world with more than words,
More vibrant than hues and pigments,
Feeling the depth of human hearts,
And testing the pull of currents.

I am wishing on a dream and shooting for the stars.
Why does that disappoint?
Why don't they understand?
Will they ever understand?
Take time to listen.
Perhaps
Down the road they will find these and find the real
Me.

Do not think any of these poems are finished,
This is just a snapshot of the heart.
In any instant,
The words make no sense.
I encourage all who read these to write about themselves,
Just like I am putting my heart into an unknown world.
Also--
Thank God for the talents He has given you.

This forced swinging from high to low
with emotion as my rope;
Perhaps but to fall, the ebb and flow
of a drama of a grand scope:

-

Midnight and the moons resounding note
waning like memories of her caress,
Then-
"Thy soul be sundered; thy life 'tis smote-
Your love 'twas simply in jest!"
Fearfully I cried under a frightful duress-
"Who art thou, wicked seraph! Fiend indeed!!
Why, why should you call my distress?
In my hour of loss, my hour of need?"
It then said, 'Thy know, thy soul I read-
Blasphemer! Defiler of a chaste life!
Sin tis your cover, desire your breed,
To be covetous of anothers wife!"
Furious was my speech - "Take thy seraphic knife,
Let us clash, I shall not fall!
Thou art simply a portent of strife;
Thou hast no honor, no higher call!"
Claimed I, "Thou art not in God's thrall!
Thou art a menace black and seedy,
To come before me with such gall,
to come before a man so needy!"
A horrible visage then arose before me,
Terrifying! This angel of doom-
The moon 'twas struck, lay bleeding-
It's light red, fading soon...
A soul of the darkest gloom,
This being 'twas not ordained!
Beneath the light of the hemorrhaging moon,
I saw what it seeked to gain!
This monster, it fed off of pain,
I cried, "Thou art surely craven!
Thy knife hast many stains,
But how art thou so boldly brazen?
Perhaps hailing from some deathly haven,
or heaven tormented, I know thy measure!
I do know ye, sinful, lust-torn maven,
Forsake sustenance from my pleasure!
Be gone! Shatter thy earthly tether!
Back!" I shrieked- "Away from this plane!"
Whether Angel sent, or Devil, whether
Freudian delusion or Jobs game!
Love and sin art not the same!
So cast off of me your burdened guilt-
Love blooms wildly, it's vines my veins,
And from stronger feelings 'tis built!
I shall not be cursed by passions blame,
and my love shall never wilt!

I didn't write this work, it was written by my dear friend Carole Hurley who has been having a problem posting

I sit on the top deck of a red London bus and view the world passing by, so much more interesting than a drive in a car.
Where are they all coming from, the people I see? Where are they going to, what do they do with their lives? These people I view.
That little old couple,  side by side holding hands. They look so content as they walk down the Strand.
The young men and women hurrying by, perhaps going to work, maybe going to buy a sandwich to eat in the park.
Tourists in their thousands viewing our London sites. I wonder where do they all go to at night.
I gaze eagerly down as we pass famous stores, their names proudly emblazoned over the doors.
I love the hustle and bustle of our London town, a wonderful mix of the old and the new, I try to absorb all the breathtaking views.
Theres Tower Bridge in her livery of gold and of blue,  her ramps held aloft as a ship passes through.
Whitehall where the soldier high on his horse so proud and so still, while tourists take photographs later to view.
Big Ben chimes as the Houses of Parliament we pass. Westminster Abbey so stately and tall, for hundreds of years overlooking it all, the laughter the sadness,  the tears and the fears.
I look at new buildings all made out of glass.  I look at it free courtesy of my free bus pass.