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roumen 5d
My last walk in the fire
one day..
My ash will spill around...
one day..
Fire will shroud me in my last walk to hell..
yes not heaven..hell..
yes I am coming...
I know ,
you have been waiting
for me ...
for my last trip into that fire..

Dont push me away,
you are my muse,
you are my light ,
you are my moon.
Dont push me away,
I am your soul ,
I am your door,
I am your road,
Dont push me away,
I want nothing ..
I want everything ..
I want you..
in my last day.
in my last walk
into that fire...
I am here..
A blinding light from the phone the teenager wakes up to at one in the morning - everyone’s been there, technology advances as our moods considerably decrease.
Smooth waters at the bay, a pretty blue light reflecting in the sailors eyes - but he wants to be greater than he already might be, so he sails out to find more difficult places and larger waves.
And one should never make a promise they know they can’t keep because words can cut like knives, if not worse, leaving deep, horrid scars everywhere they might so softly touch.
But then the new mother looks down at her gorgeous newborn angel with beautiful bright green eyes, realizing things’ll now change; for infants bring hope to a cold, hopeless world;
Yet there’s another new mother across the world somewhere in which is checking her balance, seeing which item she should buy though she can’t afford - diapers or baby food.
We all know how pictures can speak a thousand words, floating gracefully within the air - but too few words can not paint a colorful picture at all, it’ll just be grey and empty and sad and pointless.
Sometimes the person you'd take a sharp bullet for is the one that pulls the trigger of that dull handgun, and you were just on the wrong end of it...and you'll end up talking to them later, asking them how prison food tastes, saying "hope you're doing well, I'm still in the hospital, haha."
But what? Have you eyes in the back of your head? No? Well then why are you walking backwards, my dear?
Even when one runs into those low self-esteemed bullies thinking they can fix themselves by breaking everyone else, physically or mentally, get suspended for a fight - because constantly getting in trouble is funny and cool, right?
There’s a teacher across the empty, echoing school hall, one who wants to be more; have more classes; help more kids succeed with their sometimes outrageous dreams.
There’s a beautiful rainbow stretched across the bright sky in which is waiting to find its end; waiting to find its clouds to complete the breathtaking, aesthetic, panorama picture...
She sits there staring at empty cups, hoping to fill them all up one fine day but saying that she can't do it alone...and that’s the reason they will never be filled with any thirst-quenching liquid,
With rain softly falling, a homeless man on the side of the street with his empty hands out and a tearful look in his eyes, sign sitting next to him,
People stop, people stare, then get upset when they see something a little too violent for their taste although they asked - no, they begged, for it...
Feel the burn of the scorching hot fire made from the lies everyone can’t help but tell.
But still, there’s that little light of hope. The yin-yang symbol doesn’t lie - that little sliver that keeps us going, the 'what if' statement we all hold onto and keep close like a golden locket given to us passed down for generations.
I once came across a seemingly dead tree with but a single flower somehow still growing beautifully, vibrantly, peacefully as if the rest of the tree was still alive.
Those who are non-believers sitting alone, believing in the fact that there's nothing there...those who are believers, though...still. Sit. Alone. Because they're not always all that different from those who don't.
Confident singers are engraved with hallelujahs, just as the guilty, depressed, warn-out poet may write about pain, possibly from their dead members gone too soon, now lying under a rock engraved with their names.
Don’t only feel, but also see his guitar shooting musical notes like bullets across the room, reaching the crowd, hearing them roar louder than an untamed lion, for he remembered his dreams and never gave up on them.
These sentences all ask but a few questions; who’s good enough, who’s not? Who’s going to make it, who’s not? But it’s a trick, because everyone who reads this imperfect line in a book or on the screen of a device, is in fact, perfectly imperfect.
Still don’t believe it? Then go and get all the canned goods out of the pantry - whether it’s beans, carrots, corn, soup, anything. Just get everything. Big cans or small cans, taller ones or shorter ones. Get all of them.
Place all those cans on the smooth, tan countertop, look back at the pantry which should now seem far more empty than it was before - that’s what the world would look like without you...without the reverberating sound of your footsteps. It would look empty.
Sitting on the bus stop bench all alone, with nothing but a broken, bleeding, but still beating heart in hand - look down and see that you’re still holding on and it’s for a reason. And for a very good reason, at that.
These words are meant to cut like knives, not on the wrists of those who think pain is the answer, but on the heart of those who realise it’s not…
Picture daddy telling you how to act tough, how to take a punch right to the face...imagine mama telling you to let go of things. It’s fine, just sweep it under the rug, let it go, it’s fine. But it’s not fine, is it?
Trust me, you want to make a footprint in the sand, not a ****-print. So get up off of your *** and start walking, feel the warm, golden substance tickle between your toes, and it doesn't even matter if it’s the right direction or not - just walk. Keep walking.
Walk if you don’t want to feel empty or alone anymore. Walk and don’t you dare stop.
They say don't go out walking
in the woods nearby
You'll reach a point where it's so dark
You can not see the sky
It doesn't matter much to me
And here's the reason why
I listen to the wind out there
It speaks to me on high

One wrong turn and you'll be lost
They tell me, still I go
I know where I'm heading
The wind it tells me so
I listen to the wind out there
It say's I'm glad you came
The wind and I are such old friends
The wind it calls my name

Elemental friendship
From another time
Silent Conversation
No words, just thoughts in rhyme

Snowy winter afternoons
out walking all alone
Making trails for no one else but me
I listen to the tree and how they groan
The wind it makes them talk some
Not one tree sounds the same
The wind and I are such old friends
The wind it calls my name

The darkness closes in so fast
The winter days are short
Walking on in silence
Like a library or court
The wind says night is coming
Go back from whence I came
The wind and I are such old friends
The wind it calls my name

Elemental friendship
From another time
Silent Conversation
No words, just thoughts in rhyme
Steve Page May 16
I met a man walking backwards,
head to toe in high viz.
He was happy to ask for directions
and overtook the crowd with ease.

I met a man walking backwards,
telling me what was to come.
'Keep both eyes on the past,' he said,
'for the future is just re-runs.'
My daughter told me of a local man who walks everywhere backwards.  When she told me that hed asked for directions I just cracked up.  I haven't laughed that much in a while.
Liz May 16
Getting goose bumps at the brush of new
leaves gushing together on a warm wind.
The soft crunch of grass underfoot
Like the pad of foot on snow.
A mustard brown duck waddles towards me, his comrade in tow,
over daisies snow dropped on grass.
Zack Ripley Sep 2019
"If you don't want to hear "I'm sorry" then I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything. Even if you did, you wouldn't mean it anyway."
"We were great together. What did I do that was so wrong?"
"If you don't know, if you can't see how much you've changed, maybe you're too far gone."
"I haven't changed. I'm the same man I was before.
Yeah, I drink a little more.
But that doesn't mean you have to walk out the door."
"I don't want to. But you're not giving me much of a choice.
You don't listen to how much you're hurting me
no matter how much I raise my voice."
"You're hurting? You have no idea what I'm feeling inside.
You never asked why I started drinking.
You never even tried to understand.
Look, you said you don't want to walk.
So if you're willing to listen, I'm willing to talk."
"So let's talk."
ktle May 10
Beneath the canopy of darkness
And the yellow of the street lamps.
We walk at the pace of a traveler
With no map or destination.
We journey down the sidewalk with
Goosebumps on our skin,
And a dimmed fire in our hearts,
The small distance between us
Being the only warmth
Against the harsh winter air.
You point your nose towards the sky
And let out a little laugh--
A little cloud escapes into the night--
And mesmerized, I find myself smiling
And when i look up, I swear I can see
The stars smiling too.
And as I watch the movement of your lips,
And as I listen to the sound of your voice,
I decide that the late winter nights
Are most beautiful
As long as they’re with you
the fourth poem i wrote my boyfriend (back before we dated) from about a year and a half ago :)
The radio never listens to me
My dog never calls my name
Though the floors never walk on me
So I guess I can’t complain
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