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I want to write,
About my family, friends and relations.
I want to write,
About my thoughts, feelings and imaginations.

I want to write the fragrance,
Of every flower that I smell.
I want to write the sweetness,
Of every fruit that I consume.
I want to write the bitterness,
Of every challenge that I face.
I want to write my experiences,
On every single moment of my life.

I want to write the emotions,
By the pen of my nerves.
I want to paint the nature,
On the canvas of my mind.
I want to capture the beauty,
Through the lens of my eyes.

Every minute, new thoughts knock my brain,
And I hold my pen to carve words.
But I put down my pen again and again,
Because, I'm not getting any inspiration to write!
jasmine wild Apr 21
i believe breathing in an air of love
would be the same as gasping in the
beckoning sweetness of a crimson rose on a
fresh summers day
Lee Aaun Apr 3
those whom you love
if their eyes seek somebody else's sweetness
then don't feel sour
because it ain't a betrayal
it's their choice
to see someone by their side
when they open eyes in the morning;
somebody whom they love
isn't you wish the same with them?
but always remember
only one of you
will get a chance to be with someone
since your love is one-sided;
they don't know about it
will you sacrifice it
to see them happy with someone else?
hard choices to make
Payton Feb 24
To lay with my head on your lap, was all I ever really wanted do.                                                              ­                                                                 ­                                                 
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­        A place where I can be safe.                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                                    A place where I can be warm.      
                                                     ­                                                                 ­                                                  Somewhere I can let every care float away from my mind.

When I am with you, even breathing has a sweetness, to it, that I can't begin to describe.
This poem was written in 2016. I'm not sure why it's formatted like that or how to fix it, but the format doesn't really change the meaning. :P
Silver ferns grow in a meadow of furiously bright flora,
Roses of red and white,
Grow freely,
Wild below the pristine marble pedestal sitting center the clearing,
Delicately wound cage calmly sits a equally small bird,
Breathing in the sweetness of the meadow,
Fluttering peacefully,
Their talons rest atop the door,
Its Gilded Cage.
The First installment of my "The Dove" Collection.
Constructive Feedback is always Appreciated and very much welcome.
Christian C Dec 2020
The boy who clicks off the light, reads on the couch, to let sleep consume me-- or who reads beside me, metal-frames dipping low
while his eyes pour over the page.

The boy who tucks me in, acquiescing the blanket softer than peach fuzz-- like the ambrosial peaches his grandmother gifted him in the winter and he shared sweet.

The boy who always makes sure to kiss me good-bye
and fills the room with jazzy notes-- because they represent me,
though he never liked jazz much at all before.

The boy who asked me to wake him if I go somewhere because he'd prefer me to remain beside him, but he understands I have things I need to do, so he cannot always wake beside me,
a weight he can handle.

It does not match the boy who told me he does not love me,
though he likes me, and I am haunted by hollow translations
that force me to delicately dance around a swear word in the
English language like "love".

It does not match the boy who said we wouldn't have much of a relationship without ***, and I am haunted by uncertainties of my convenience that force me to stumble with the hope that our
past does not define our present.

How I feel about you, through my actions, through my words, are truer than any logic, but that might not matter
because the boy does not want to hear words that have
a weight greater than he can handle.
Celestial Nov 2020
Your heart is not old,
That I can guarantee.
The actions may not be as bold,
However, I can still see.

The love you give is pure.
Nothing in this world can compare.
In my eyes you will never be lost.
As long as I can still hold you.

Our conversations may repeat.
You always keep it upbeat.
The repetition will place a seat.
In my memories forever a treat.

Great and grand,
Are before your motherhood.
You've earned it in blessings,
And in honest hard work.

The wit and charm you give,
Will be well learned for us to live.
Lives happy and filled with laughter.
When we do, it shakes the rafters.

He will hear it soon,
For your heart he will swoon.
Then you will be gone,
We can only hope for a new dawn.

You are loved so completely.
I know I can only do my best,
Which you taught me.
So I return it to you for your care.

No more worries,
Don't have to hurry.
This is now a resting.
It is us he is testing.

Love you to the moon and back.
I will be fine with your watchful eye,
And gifts given to me.
So don't cry..

It's been such a pleasure,
Far more than one can measure.
One last hug and my heart tugs.
Just do not want a goodbye.

My heart says see you later instead.
I kiss your forehead.
Sweetly like you've shown.
Thank you, for making me grown.
Life is usually spent well, and love is supposed to be given when deserved.
I taste the garden
Of Eden in your sweet lips
Hold me, your creature!
Take me into your strong arms
Softly. Never let me go!
My sweet beloved
Whispered a poem to my ear
It was spilled perfume
On a collection of shells
It was the bright star
That softly kissed the mountain
A guardian angel
To the dark night of the soul
How sweet is my beloved!
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