#prospects - Hello Poetry

Here's to you potential and all of your prospects The future you don't want me to be a part of It's a lot harder Getting started I'm letting go of so much more than you it seems Letting go of a million possibilities The dreams I had for you and me

0

Jun 23, 2020

Jun 23, 2020 at 1:53 PM UTC

colettealexia

Cheers

Here's to you potential and all of your prospects The future you don't want me to be a part of It's a lot harder Getting started I'm letting go of so much more than you it seems Letting go of a million possibilities The dreams I had for you and me

7

This is not the way how my story ends.

0

May 16, 2019

May 16, 2019 at 8:06 PM UTC

the-withered-soul

Remimder for Everyday

This is not the way how my story ends.

9

Red The only colour In this sea of grey Red Your red lips Are stark against your pale skin Red The only colour In this sea of grey suits Oh London, You dark, stark city, Filled with wondrous prospects For people made of red.

0

Sep 26, 2015

Sep 26, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC

Rockie

Red

Red The only colour In this sea of grey Red Your red lips Are stark against your pale skin Red The only colour In this sea of grey suits Oh London, You dark, stark city, Filled with wondrous prospects For people made of red.

13

Neon lights from salt rusted beach buggies, gypsy camels and a faint memory of dollops of colour reflect under the milky moon that hangs unnaturally low. In the car window, the reflection of her pensive eyes are overlaid with the mischievous moon, and a vendor selling animated light toys skip like stones that never sink - ceaseless ripples in the unconventionally eerie and curious night. They say the moon has this unnerving attraction to the earth - a pull, compelling and persuasive. Like a tangled ball of yarn it is unkempt, woven out of threads of enigmas. Each of us having a loose end of the intermingling threads tied around our waists, like our own invisible axis. Every time our thread is tugged, almost like a reflex we are compelled to look up like a reminder that we might live on earth - on the ground, but our eyes, minds, and our souls are infinite.

0

Jun 21, 2014

Jun 21, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC

mariam-paracha

Preface - Eyes in the Skies

Neon lights from salt rusted beach buggies, gypsy camels and a faint memory of dollops of colour reflect under the milky moon that hangs unnaturally low. In the car window, the reflection of her pensive eyes are overlaid with the mischievous moon, and a vendor selling animated light toys skip like stones that never sink - ceaseless ripples in the unconventionally eerie and curious night. They say the moon has this unnerving attraction to the earth - a pull, compelling and persuasive. Like a tangled ball of yarn it is unkempt, woven out of threads of enigmas. Each of us having a loose end of the intermingling threads tied around our waists, like our own invisible axis. Every time our thread is tugged, almost like a reflex we are compelled to look up like a reminder that we might live on earth - on the ground, but our eyes, minds, and our souls are infinite.

6