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"If there is only one thing to do well in this life,

It is to love well;

For if there is anything you are to be judged by

It is the plainness, of your loving."

||
📖 the opening page from my book;  "Biting Thorns Off Roses"
I am weightless in the breathlessness of my own soul;
where I wake up every part of myself – piece by piece.
Life is the length you live, until you die – measuring
it risk by risk.

My soul is amiss, where I aim my mark on giving
out good remarks. But I must admit, sometimes it’s
all just a miss.

Yes, I am this candle of love, burning fiercely in my heart.
But where I burn from its wick; my heart is fiercely wicked.
And I play out the cast of my feelings – but, why do I have
to act them out as an armed hand; protecting my very own
insecurities, held in a daily ***** cast?

And in all the beautiful things I can see, I quickly fish
for ideas. Afterwards, I cast my net to grab onto dreams –
still I need the fires of His love, for my soul can easily fall
asleep. For our beds are our testing graves, and after your
final resting place, where will you end up in the End of days?
I’m seven steps away from Heaven, in a world where I’m a corner
away from the Devil – so if I give into these pressures, it means I'll
give myself into these earthly pleasures. But the world still gives
a toast to your efforts, as it calls you, "so toast," in your present.
As I've been around the mundane of numerous dead conversations,
decomposing in a grave. But only when there’s something on the
lines, does talk among fools hold a grave importance.

Still, bring me flowers as if it where my day, as I plan to be a letter
at the cemetery – with the wisdom I gained, to share. My whole life
would be these songs written as poems; trapped in my pen as a
snare; while the beating of heart’s passion plays on like a snare.

And there, where there are people who care for us; it's only in death
will we know those who were good at pretending their love for us.
And I’ll find those lovers, chained to each other like slaves – and I'll
give the sweetest dreams to the fearful bunch, whose beds act as their
trial runs to their graves.

Whereas we all live just to die someday, which will be one day –
yet we take this life day by day, making the most of them, like it
were your very last day; the day will eventually come. Still, what’s
to income for us, is what will become our action's outcome. Death
isn’t something you can run from, buy your way from, or delay any
longer for anyone – yet we must live life, remembering that His will
is always done.
How to gain the confidence to complete a simple task?
a bit of a lighter note than other poems I’ve been posting lately…
lunch break  fire escape                  
   seagulls hover  far below              
rattled  by stern winds          
  thoughts battle  their own nature    
no progress  in their flight      
.
tanka style
original notes :my high perch on ninth /fire escape /the backs of gulls below /flight   rattled with wind /no forward progress in flight
heidi Mar 26
becoming the clouds
floating through the atmosphere
daydreamer’s delight
Agnes de Lods Mar 25
So lucid,
so spiritual,
so warm,
and sometimes
screaming.

Joyful, humorous
caring for others,
and often fed up
with cruel meanings.

So nostalgic,
a few salty tears,
mingled self-irony.

Pulsating softly,
may these thoughts
last a little longer.
They want to live despite
the announced apocalypse.
I learned to spar with my stray thoughts,
Every ounce of fear or anxiety,
Becomes a battle of wit.

Though that may not work for everyone,
Some just build lanterns,
A way to see through the night.

Others learn to silence their worries,
Utilizing weapons to wipe away their nightmares,
Burning holes where there once was doubt.
Everyone has their own cure.
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