Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The key to words,
when written down,
is to view them
like a Lost and Found.
For, when faced with creativity,
one can be lost in eternity,
and the endless options
that thoughts present-
all the struggles
in the time that's spent.
One could hear a phrase-
uttered on a whim-
but for a creative mind,
it makes a cup flowing to the brim.
Ideas and conjurations
spring forward with ease,
like delicate whisperings
on a warm summer's breeze.
Bursting with inspiration,
so suddenly found,
makes each step a blessing
as it touches the ground.
Then how is it,
that once imparted,
it is so easy
to find those dear words departed?
A moments distraction,
and then they are helplessly gone;
as you frown and despair
over a writing gone wrong.
You scavenge the void
and the dark recesses
of a previous list
of brilliant successes,
only to find that,
though measurable indeed,
the words on that list
are not what you need.
So treasure wisely
your words today-
for a borrowed word
is tomorrow's play.
Peter Davies Jan 2015
They say to have a writer
Fall in love with you
So you will never die.
But I say
Seize the love of a musician.
Someone to write you
Into colors in the air
And star-****** behind the eyelids
Of any who will listen
To the tale of you that they wrote.

Musicians, like writers,
Bring light through a fog
With their love-speak and poems.
But music-makers
Can create flowers in winter
And warmth without fire.
Their melodies dance
Over the swish of grass blades
And between the tooth-gaps of children
Whose fingers are sticky
With sweet popsicle juice
While an oil-painted scene
Is painted in your mind.

So be cherished my a musician
And hear yourself forever;
Be sung by a hundred different voices,
Danced by fairies and pretty young girls,
Costumed in dissonance,
Etched into souls.
For you can never really die
When you echo forever in the cavern
Of a good song.
April Jan 2015
The poet inside of me,
wants to believe,
he could love me.

For when he whispered in my ear,
I couldn't dare stop the tug of my lips.

But, I had to remind myself
he's just a friend.

I may think, write, explore
yet, love for me
is nothing my pen or paper,
can create.
Luvanna Jan 2015
for my words have no sense when I begin to transfer it
from my quivering lips
I think it would be the best if I just write
in a paper where all the senses have put aside
where all I am trying to say is
for you to comprehend
to break the puzzles
Elissa Gregoire Jan 2015
How can I possibly
capture your likeness?
I cannot put on paper
the radiance of your eyes
the gentleness of your heart
the tenderness of your soul
Mandy Rochel Jan 2015
Shards lay amidst the ground
All of this house and not a sound
The screams from my dreams keep me awake
Put down the ******* bottle for ***** sake
You are killing yourself every drop that goes in
This is by far your most damaging sin
You say that when you drink the ***
It lessens the feeling you compare to as numb
Baby I come home and your passed out on the floor
You'd never even know who walked through that door
I grab the bottle right out of your hands
I wake you up and prepare you to stand
You fall to your knees and grasp my bruised feet
I fear it is in hell we will once again meet
Watching you die everyday is not easy on me
Please just get it over with so I can finally sleep
M.R. Poetry
Mandy Rochel Jan 2015
From an innocent age
I have always held an inborn fondness for winter
The way the cold air brought people together inside
And the fact that no snowflake was ever the same.
But as I have increased in age
I have found less redundant things that appeal to me about the Jack Frost season
For I now relate the the way everything freezes over
And you cannot feel the tips of your fingers
And new comfort has been located in the elongated periods of darkness
And I have found a deeper meaning
In the way snow falls, but doesn't always make it to the ground
Naomi Sullivan Jan 2015
Dating a writer seems to be some kind of relationship goal. It seems so heavenly when you read a piece they wrote about you, but what happens when everything they ever wrote ends up in a box in the highest point of your closet because you couldn't dare to take it down. I promise you the words of loss will impact you more than the words of "love" that they promised were oh-so deep.
AMcQ Jan 2015
I look down at the arcs of white;
at the tattered bows which skirt my fingernails.
They signal the very edge of my extremities.
Each one with unique imperfections
owed to the muck and dirt lodged underneath.
They're hideous; soiled and grotesque from
digging deeper into my love affair with mortality -
my lust for the knowledge of what happens
when we are 6 feet below sun-lights' reach.
cr Jan 2015
i-

well,
      ****.
i can't write things lately. it hurts my brain too much i suppose
Next page