Cat Lynn 11h
...I couldn't help but to stare blankly at your white, emotionless face...

The last time I saw you... You had a light full of joy and grace...

But to see that light now gone from you body left a taste of melancholy

A hood of sorrows is what hid my bitter sweet tears from them and you, what folly...

Before my aching heart could leave your presence, your eyes opened...

Your heart startled by a hug, your eyes gazed around at all of us, an opportunity, I was hope'n

You stared straight into my black stained waterfall and spooked me

When your pale, cold hand, with quickness, grabbed my hand.. and begged me not to leave..

It shook... I could feel and count every bone you used... with the little muscle strength you had...

My body trembled at your white, thin, Skeleton hand... Stabbed by the reality of loss...the insecurity was bad..

I felt so troubled and helpless... Since there was nothing from me you could gain...

"Alan...Linard...." was the last thing I heard, the last thing she said... it was her husband's name...

6 days later... 9:15pm, July 2nd, 2018...for the first time... I watched Some breath their last... and finally die...

Puzzled by how quick and peaceful a painful image thing can be.... It felt so deceitfully wrong... but I knew it was..right..

Donna... You wouldn't come back... even if you could.. you wouldn't

You in a place of paradise... pure perfection... I wont lie... I miss you.. but I know you could never return... you couldn't..
..I hate writing stuff like this.

Lord.. Thank you for finally taking her home..

Donna, you always said to me "Age Doesn't Matter" for a variety  of things I told you about... I want to always thank you for constantly telling me that...and for praying for me, and for teaching me what it means to be a prayer warrior...
Wyatt 1d
In a garden of white,
the red takes flight
off my paint brush.
Drafts in process
are now painful roses.
Observe my creation,
pay this great attention.
I call this thing of mine
a bouquet of brokenness.
I sit in puddles of red,
on vivid land in the west.
Tracing lines on my skin,
pulling petals again.

Love me, love me not.
This here’s all I got,
my tear to peer into the well.
Dry of water, don’t bother
to wish a wish inside a well.
You can hear every penny
when it lands at the bottom.
No signs of utopia,
just a dated dystopia.
I make lines in the soil,
dried up of all euphoria.

Red on my hands,
red on the day.
Blue in my eyes,
fate in my wake.
Gardens of dye
drown in my paint.
A sight for sore eyes,
a mark of my pain.
My garden turns red every time.

I'm not prejudice
to the weather, but if it's

white I'll stay inside
I hate running in the snow :(
Isaac Aug 8
What's black and white
And colourful all over?

A good poem.
Written 8 August 2018
hue Aug 7
I am a rose
white as a snow
a decent one
and purity is I show
i dance with the wind
as the moon shines and glow
but if it is about him
the one who tainted me
who carries hatred and anger
stained me with a red paint
for he is a threat of bloodshed
and all i know now is pain
and the purity i once hold
was now gone.
So lame hahaha
Özcan Sh Aug 5
I was injured
I hear something is dripping
My shirt was still white
But the black knight
Begins to fight
On the white battlefield.
No weight for love
No, no love has weight
No power for it
No, no it has full
When it leads to nature
When she wore white
When he wore a black
To be union in one
Night and day
Work and rest
Love and may be hate
Slightly not hard
As the salt in food
Little makes it good
More spoil it
Fly with you heart
It will have ascended only
Beside your beauty
And said it had no weight
love leads to angel not devil life when God blesses it
Not too hot,
not too cold,
is this the strategy you wanted to behold?

In this case
I was luke warm
by all your harm.

I wouldn't say I was drowning  
or flying for that matter,
but you did make me sadder.

Now I've learnt
how you come and go
and I've learnt to say no.

From now on
I decorate myself with white
and wait for you to once again bite.
Mike Aug 1
You didn't see me, yesterday
at the mall, outside
American Eagle, perched
over my phone, praying to God
that tomorrow's flame-filled tornados
and neon Nuclear nightmares didn't strike
like lotto tickets after 20 years salary wasted
after 20 years wasted in front of the bottom of cups
and the ends of wet joints -
No, something about today's different -
it's always darkest before the dawn
and it's always coldest before the crack,
sometimes I feel like letting go of you
and never looking back - I know
You must've figured the same
maybe I'm too wracked with disdain -
Small and white,
Their scent a delight,
Blooms at night.
String  them with your hand,
In your wedding garland.
Pluck these fragile flowers,
As offers,
On the graves of your loved ones,
Light a scented candle when done.
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