Eventide serenaded Daylight to rest
Oh, weary eyelids betrayed from lethargy
Lulled you to sleep, once energized
Rocked in a cradle of imagination,
A capricious scene unraveled
Your senses were temporarily seized from the Mastermind of Dreams,
Who has calculated each successive moment
Unless, of course, you had a lucid kind
Then you could outsmart the Mastermind
Daylight awakes you once again, just like every
You wake up to pandiculate and realize that
the Mastermind of Dreams will always defeat you since you relinquish control over your dreams
Having a dream is like staying at a hotel; it feels nice to stay, but terrible when you have to leave.
I'd like to think I am something specail. That i have some hidden talent, too shy and unpolished to crack the surface.
I'd like to think I just ignore my skills. Almost like my subconscious mind knows that the world could not handle such a powerful force as I at my peek. I think I tell myself these things...
So that I feel okay with knowing that I do not know.
For trying could mean failure. For failure, well, that will mean the serects I am feeling, the hidden talents I tell only to myself....could be just that...only to myself. I could be nothing.
I could be ******.
With no talent or skill or common sense.
But...in this why...I am a ******* with a quite hope.
And that's enough for now.
maybe we'll meet again,
when we are slightly older
and our minds less hectic,
and I'll be right for you and you'll be right for me.
But right now,
I am chaos to your thoughts
and you are poison to my heart.
as for now, i'll focus on myself.
i miss you.
my mind doesn't wanna say that
so all i do is
i don't know. maybe
it's hope that you'll
return my messages.
maybe. i'm just being
too easy on you. maybe
we just shouldn't have met.
the leaves are falling from the trees
a bundle of reds and browns and greens
the cold air begins to settle in
it rests on your chest, making its home there
slowly becoming a never ending shiver
the color dropping from your eyes
just like the dying leaves
your eyes soon become as dull as the naked trees
but i will swallow the sun to keep you warm
holding you between my arms
allowing the reds and browns and greens
to continue to thrive in your eyes
i will tuck away the cold
for the iciness of autumn brings the falling apart
and i would rather fall together
the boy with forest eyes thrives in the spring and summer, but the colder months bring a dull look to his eyes. he changes with the seasons, autumn seems to be the hardest.
he came like my
s e a s o n a l - d e p r e s s i o n
way too early
left hurricanes in my path
floods at my feet
let's do it again
where has all my motivation gone **** it
i've found heaven
stumbled upon it accidentally
more than a time or two
swirled in different hues of blue
hidden within a timid smile
tucked into the words of my favorite song
i've found it within the hearts of strangers
the ones who hand me things from the top shelf
the ones who go out of their way to paint a smile on my face
i've found it buried in the hazel eyes of my lover
in his generosity that knows no bounds
in his warms hands and gentle embrace
stitched into his ever so caring heart
i've found it in family
blood and not blood
in their unconditional love
in their way of always making me feel wanted
heaven is right there
it's within arms reach
a golden sheen just waiting to be seen
defog your tired eyes and begin to really see
see the beauty in everyday things
the little things
sometimes i think we forget
heaven isn't that far away
religion seems to be dying among the generations to come, it's a topic very rarely spoken about anymore. I get ***** looks for even bringing up my religion for people think just by talking i am shoving my beliefs down their throat and it devastates me. It's something I am passionate about, something I dedicate a part of my life too and I shouldn't be nervous to speak about it in the public eye. Idk, random thoughts for the night :p
Tear the idea limb from limb, until the acorn of truth falls.
And then, rend the earth and begin again.
Until another, and another
And another thought begins.
Growing slowly with every Fall.
Acorns everywhere. So are thoughts. Growing. Let them go.
When I write poetry
I write like I speak
As they come
When she writes
is carefully thought out
Each, an essential part of the whole
Is it something I will learn?
When I grow up?
Is it an innate difference between us?