Ryan 12h

I stood in awe
of the impossible moment
the symphony of my soul
burst into a thousand songs
The love I had always
wanted to give,
always wanted to receive
gifted to me
in warmth of teeming sunlight
Floating in spaceless bliss
but too fast was it gone
reaped out with no remorse
but I didn't stop
I couldn't, How could I?
why should I?
should I?

The heavy patter of the rain
Reflects the pattern of my heart
In weariness
In longings last
How I've waited for this storm to pass
Most patiently
Slowly pouring out
With a cooling voice
Till I calm myself
And yet so much more than the afterstorm
Which I must create
Everytime I've felt
The need to be
More than this old me
This rainsoaked version of the self

*the sound of rain*
NAG 2d

Everything a person can do creates a thought,
a car that runs through a persons mind when they are
trying to sleep, but they can't.
But, with a poet,
a thought isn't a car.
A thought is a wave of water,
it's a dunk tank at a carnival
and everyone has perfect aim.
It's a soft touch on cold skin,
one that feels like a lost lover.

And when a poet writes,
and a thought is used,
it lives forever.



And stone

And wax unwound

How all will melt
And all will burn
Long before his heavenly throne
Reveals itself forever more

Because we are the human
And he is the God

He reveals himself in ways
Most unknown

His structures are that of pure existence
Carved out of matter we cannot imagine

He is unlike us
He is everything
Beyond our frail and fragile bones

Because he is omnipotent and all-powerful.

When it comes to fire
Within my arms
I will crash and burn and rebuild myself

Because I am
Because I was
And because I have yet to become someone else

All that I can be
All that I wasn't
All that I do is because I must

Its not owned by this
The want or wont
But because I will regret it if I don't

Below my average... But I'm trying something new.

I have been focused and growing
I have been strong
But now I see it's not the time
Nor the place
To build you a house
Or a home in which I belong

I'm his timing. Not mine. But that doesn't make it any less difficult. To stop trying. At least the trying therein becomes demoralizing.

Maybe this summer?
Maybe these stars?
Will be the distant midnight fires
Which will look down upon this tired old heart
And rejoice as it falls
Stumbling upon the greatest love of all

Maybe this summer? Maybe these stars?
Sydney Marie Apr 19

"They're not attacking you, they're attacking your idea because you were louder then anyone else."

David Hall Apr 17

on certian serendipitous days
I gather a glance through a golden window
of the tantalizing truth


elusively it avoids my grasp
flashing through my frantic fingers
realizing revalation I resolve

to let it land on my soul like a butterfly

Sean Scribbles Apr 16

The truth is written there
Clear as day and yet shrouded as the night
Across the sky
That I am the only one who knows
Who I've written about
And why

Because this is me being honest. This is me telling the truth without being either inclusive or exclusive. It simply is the way that it is. And that kind of OK is alright with me. For now at least. :)

The writing is there is you understand my kind if elvish. ;)
Next page