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Timothy Mar 2018
you've been good to me
you've shown me the way to be free
I want to give something in return
so I wrote this poem that I've learn

You are the instrument of my song
LISTEN
      LISTEN
           LISTEN
To the beat of your heart as it play along.
I've never been this in love before
but I know that you are someone I wont fall for.

You are the song that plays in the background
before I knew it, you're all ready there,
standing
watching
playing
singing
waiting
and I was dumbfounded.
you are the instrument that lives in me....
you are my inspiration that drove me here..
I feel blessed that I've known you
because without you

I will never be a writer of expression.
dunno if I did it correctly.
your thoughts?
Ps. just playing around with words again. do you mind translating this poem for me to understand what the hell did I wrote.
Kartikeya Jain Mar 2018
And everytime
I put my arms
around her,
I burn.

- Oh, she's fire.
LDP Mar 2018
Manifesting are the worries you constantly put out
Infecting the mindset of the joyful.
Why are you so inconsiderate??
Play nice.
Stop being the sucker,
You can only drain so much from a person.
Like a leech,
You won't unattach until you are full and feel fulfilled for
your own pride and needs.


-LDP
Kathleen Rose Mar 2018
We both know I ain't a poet
& I sure as hell can't sing
But I do it 'cause of you, man
Yeah, I do it 'cause of you

I write these stupid words
I sing these ****** songs
& I do it all for you, man
Yeah...I do it all for you.
When you don't even have to think, and it just finds its way out.
Our purpose is to leave a mark
Like when my thoughts rush to my finger tips to write them down in ink
K Paige Mar 2018
the photographer has a golden hour and i am envious of them

the golden hour is the period of time directly after sunrise
or before sunset

it is here where light kisses dark

it is here that these artists thrive

and come alive

it is here where they capture a magical transition

synchronized
soft
inevitable

the writer may spend months in a stupor
searching for their next golden hour

how dizzying it is to realize that what we see is believed to be
more real than what we feel

when will the sun rise in my mind again?

-k.p.-
Lyda M Sourne Mar 2018
I would write sonnets

Of our escapades
On boat rides
Walks through the park
Crossing bridges

I would write stories

Of our late night talks
Your piano blues
Inside jokes
Quiet conversation

I would write poems

Of the space between us
Entwined hands
Closeness of heartbeats
Fingers running on skin

But I am just the writer
And you are my muse
With our tale ending on paper
And here I am writing about him again
BC Jaime Mar 2018
“Consider me
As one who loved poetry
And persimmons”
–Shiki


As one who loved
Poetry and persimmons
Pomegranates and prose

Who visited
Keats’ nightingale tree
And Freud’s couch

Who stayed
Long after winter storms
Struck spirit with lightning

Who traveled
Beyond starry dusted night
To speak with spirits

Who survived
The ***** and peril
Of the provokers pike

Who rose
Not from clichéd ash
But from papery embers

Who wrote
Down every word
On lined parchment

Who seduced
Your very soul to squander
Its sentiment on one

Who gave
Of himself
Everything


[Note: This poem was originally published by Cadence Collective: https://cadencecollective.net/2015/10/27/consider-me/]
© BC Jaime 2015 || IG: @B.C.Jaime

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/.
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