#escapefromreality - Hello Poetry

tear stained lined paper as the pen scrambles angrily writing about everyday life as her demons approach her she slams them inside her journal which she keeps to escape the nightmare she's living in - escape from reality

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Sep 15, 2017

Sep 15, 2017 at 6:24 PM UTC

helenawrites

escape from reality

tear stained lined paper as the pen scrambles angrily writing about everyday life as her demons approach her she slams them inside her journal which she keeps to escape the nightmare she's living in - escape from reality

9

POSTCARD TO A POET I don't want to write it down. I don't want to give those thoughts life form cause once you put them down on that soft pillow of memory…. Once you do that, It becomes truth! The one that haunts you.... The one that comes in your dreams The truth that never knew lie-if. You become its slave, You share your lunch with it. You just dream about that moment trapped on paper that moment you decided to give your thoughts wings to eternity. Your words - your destiny, yet even sworn enemy.

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Feb 1, 2017

Feb 1, 2017 at 3:35 PM UTC

jasmina

POSTCARD FOR A POET

POSTCARD TO A POET I don't want to write it down. I don't want to give those thoughts life form cause once you put them down on that soft pillow of memory…. Once you do that, It becomes truth! The one that haunts you.... The one that comes in your dreams The truth that never knew lie-if. You become its slave, You share your lunch with it. You just dream about that moment trapped on paper that moment you decided to give your thoughts wings to eternity. Your words - your destiny, yet even sworn enemy.

17

clear sky cold descending, scrambled mind like an egg, impending communications signal so lost, on depending, a present frequency that can carry the weighty scale of injustice pales to the moonlit verse read of a Shakespearean tragedy peppered and salted to taste no waste well not yet, clearly as the past is tense and the Twain shall never meet, Mark my words

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Feb 28, 2015

Feb 28, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC

darrell-wade-elverum

clearly

clear sky cold descending, scrambled mind like an egg, impending communications signal so lost, on depending, a present frequency that can carry the weighty scale of injustice pales to the moonlit verse read of a Shakespearean tragedy peppered and salted to taste no waste well not yet, clearly as the past is tense and the Twain shall never meet, Mark my words

21

Listening to Music, Slipping between the notes, Letting myself get lost in the feeling- The emotion- and stealing Back the last bit of sanity. The bit that I had been using As a tug-o-war rope Between me and the people Who can't really see. Writing. Letting the thoughts flow Through me as I dream of Something soothing, And creating something Great to share with others. Something maybe they Can relate to, But it's okay if they can't, Because to be honest it was meant More for self-healing than For others' need to critique. Art. All aspects, From drawing to painting To molding and crafting or knitting. Something to paint the scene That's in my head, The one that I can't see dead. A form of venting, True, But also of sharing a view. Casting to canvas, Or whatever else you'd use, The beauty of the world, Or the painful bits, You choose. Escapes from my reality, A cruise around the world, A chance to see my dreams In actuality, Instead of forgetting them too soon. A chance to chase my pain away, To feel a little less bruised. A moment to breathe with ease At least, and it's never a moment to soon.

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Feb 26, 2015

Feb 26, 2015 at 8:54 PM UTC

CallMeShynie

To Escape Through The Beauty (Escaping Reality)

Listening to Music, Slipping between the notes, Letting myself get lost in the feeling- The emotion- and stealing Back the last bit of sanity. The bit that I had been using As a tug-o-war rope Between me and the people Who can't really see. Writing. Letting the thoughts flow Through me as I dream of Something soothing, And creating something Great to share with others. Something maybe they Can relate to, But it's okay if they can't, Because to be honest it was meant More for self-healing than For others' need to critique. Art. All aspects, From drawing to painting To molding and crafting or knitting. Something to paint the scene That's in my head, The one that I can't see dead. A form of venting, True, But also of sharing a view. Casting to canvas, Or whatever else you'd use, The beauty of the world, Or the painful bits, You choose. Escapes from my reality, A cruise around the world, A chance to see my dreams In actuality, Instead of forgetting them too soon. A chance to chase my pain away, To feel a little less bruised. A moment to breathe with ease At least, and it's never a moment to soon.

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