Passion flows from the pen. Lines race through the mind In a feverish fervor. Such a noble piece deserves a remarkable title - Something unique, Innovative, Never been done before...
"Untitled." Showing 1 to 20 of a 1,000 search results.
Oh to be the young, Untitled poet. They live in a world of dreamy wonder. It takes an earnest naivete to believe That the three stanzas, freshly written Are beyond the need for a name. How can words so profound be labeled? To name the art would do it a disservice, Surely.
However, do not frown on the Untitled poet. No one is born with A sophisticated understanding of the thesaurus. Indeed, you were once a starry-eyed artist, As was I. We all need our time to bake, Letting our edges singe and crisp. In due time, they'll look back on their journey And take note of how they've grown. After all, How can you call yourself a writer If you don't hate your old work?
Be obedient to your love and peace Don’t pretend Don’t deny Don’t rush sometimes The process needs to be readjusted And That’s ok. In the beginning it’s rough We look forward to the ending but fear the Loss of what could be
i sat alone and waited for the sun to come up i never did like mornings but it's not really morning; i never closed my eyes once instead, i stayed awake through the night and paced until i wore down the rug this youth is full of endless nights and praying for the kinds of highs i only find when i'm drunk
i sat alone in the back of my car with nobody in the front seat i left the keys out on the hood hoping for someone to come save me from me i waited in the parking lot until it got empty dark the night is one big endless sky and imagining what it's like to die alone in my neighborhood park
i sat alone at the edge of the creek clinging to my own shaking hands the water ran over my feet and we moved together like it was a dance i fell asleep in a bed of reeds in the late afternoon and dreamed of catching fireflies and running towards blue headlights and swallowing the moon
Time has never flown for me. so I'm just waiting here, It's just kinda stumbled around. planted on even footing. I know I'm only 25 I know there's nothing but it feels like I've been here very artistic about this piece. for 3 lifetimes... It's more so just a diary entry... Feels odd, at times - but it's 5am and I'm tired me still being alive. and putting in the effort never got me anywhere. Death isn't something I fear anymore and there isn't really anything here to look forward to