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annh Apr 2019
O, feckless dart of immeasurable delight!
Wouldst thou direct elsewhere your flight,
And refute my rival’s gentleman claim,
That he be immune to Cupid’s aim.

His smug sobriety remains intact,
His pages blithe and matter-of-fact,
Where my poor pen is inked with woe,
And ****** to hell by quiver and bow.

O, mischievous boy do grant my request!
Whether modest maid or comely *****,
His downfall ensured by one bold kiss,
Shoot low, shoot high, but do not miss.
‘“Oh, did you expect me to play fair?” Cupid laughed. “I am the god of love. I am never fair.”’
- Rick Riordan, The House of Hades
anonymous Feb 2019
your hand trembles

as you try to write

they need to know

your lips quiver

as you open up

the part hidden

so meticulously

from the world
Mr Quiet Dec 2018
I still miss the smell of your hair on my shoulder,
I still miss the times when you'd text me before we were over,
I still miss the look in your eyes when I walk in and see you glow like an angels and give me the look that still makes me quiver.
The pulchritudinous quiver.

Time only moves and people are what changes,
And what's the point of love if it ain't permanent then it ain't worth it,
I don't want to break our hearts again but please come back and forget our hatred,
Let me slip again in your life please give me a sign and I'll take it.

Look me in the eyes and tell me you've moved on,
I say I don't want lies but please lie one more time just to hold on,
Oh please text me one more time tonight,
Let's pretend and forget everything slowly.

Let's go and do all the things we used to plan,
To go to the planetarium or maybe just stargaze while we're lying down on the grass,
Or you can just sleep on my shoulder again and let me be your man,
Please let me prove you that I can be your man,
another poem to reminisce my past relationship
SR Nirmal Kumar Oct 2018
Quivering the forked tongue
Spews venom merrily
Shyster politician
Bianca Reyes Sep 2017
my hands
        my heart

i remember a time when
    both my heart and hands
      knew what they were meant for

             a time before you came along
   and they made it their job to show
the love they could hold for you
                 my hands
                      my heart
Copyright under Bianca Reyes
All rights reserved
Blah blah blah
Kee Jun 2017
the current flows rapidly down my cheeks
and my eyes puffy like balloons
my face quivering, the sobs erupting from my mouth
my knees weak
my heart shattered
i tell myself i shouldn't cry
that i'll be okay
but how do i know that?
how do i know that this hurt is going to stop?
what if it never stops?
is it like a toothache?
the pain comes and goes, only getting stronger and stronger until you have to get it taken out?
what if i can't remove this pain like i can my tooth?
what if this ache in my heart won't heal and the crack will never mend?
who am i to know what my heart wants?
maybe it's tired of my reckless decisions and has decided that it doesn't want to be healed
maybe it will stay this way and prepare for the next wave of pain to come just like that toothache
what happens when the pain is finally too much?
can i die from a broken heart?
how will i prepare for another love?
how do i know that this is the one?
how do i know that he loves me?
how do i know when it's finally going to end?
im in my feelings, lol.
R Arora Dec 2016
Sometimes, I have a strong urge to write;
One fleeting thought in my mind,
Eager to become a poem on paper.
At times, I am able to calm it down,
Save the thought for later;
But often comes the moment,
When the vessel is full,
Brimming with words,
Longing to ink the paper,
And become sentences.
I can feel the quiver of my heart
As I reach for the notebook.
The grip at the pen,
More confident and firm.
That's what happens to me,
When I sit down to write.
How about you?
**Do you feel it too?
It's the desire to write.
Oddly enough, an article on Vikas Khanna inspired me to write this.
Emily Dunigan Apr 2016
she pulls you in closer
wrapping her legs around your spine
hoping this won't destroy her
pouring glass after glass of her fathers wine
her face becomes a blur
but you know the outline
she calls you her eglantine

says your delicate and unique
but your thorns will cut her deep
you look sturdy but she knows weak
and to her you are a bloom at its peak

your bodies become one
as you pretend your not a beginner
doing something you have never done
feeling like a sinner
but you know in the long run
she'll make your lips quiver
saying words you have said to no one

you'll tell her you love her
have her wrapped around your finger
hoping this won't destroy you
hoping you won't destroy her
an eglantine is a  Eurasian rose with prickly stems and fragrant leaves and bright pink flowers followed by scarlet hips
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