"beautyful" poems
Your lying next to me.
I can hear your breathing, steady.
You are almost asleep.
A calm beauty.
Finaly you get some rest.
I can see you needed it.
For the days are long.
Bring so much pain.
But here you are safe.
Can get some rest.
So sleep on love.
My beautyful wife.
The love of my life.
The days might be hard.
But the nights your here.
Next to me.
And I will keep you safe.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 5:46 PM UTC
I must compare thy glowing eyes to the giant sphinx of pretty Egypt
Thy gorgeous lips to thy glitterings earrings of jade
Thy fine feet to thy golden pair of ears that beam a hundred variety of beauty
Thy skin of glass to the sweet dawn breezes of harmattan
Thy black hair to the magnificent face of late cleopatra
Thy face I must liken to the beautyful history of old Egypt
And thy love my birthright.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
Heey Mahina tokotini
yuor so beautyful & so pweddy.
your my best fraand! n et wil neva end.
Yuor so funny, yuo mke me laugh al d tymz,
2 da dayz datz gne by!
laaaarve maree xox :p
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 4:17 PM UTC
Love me not because of my beauty,
For beauty is a mortal!
Mine will fade off your sight if a new beautyful is discovered.
Love me because I'm your breath and soul.
If you love me because of my beauty,you truly do not love me.
You are just a lover of beauty!
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
Freedom lives in me.
Its within me, not within my madness.
Its within my capacity to imagine.
It’s in the sun-rays bathing my face,
and my naked, long, always beautyful legs,
-which the nurses how deny to cover them with a green
hospital robe-
in my capacity to take wise decisions; and to love.
In the capacity to free myself,
from all fear;
from all anger.
Freedom it’s been encaged;
wings tied up,
closed eyes,
and been able to fly;
feel blood flow;
the voice run;
fly;
tremulously;
vividly;
running through my skin,
like a kite, of brilliant colors
trapped, inside my body.
Freedom it’s in close my
eyes and
listen the outline of my
lips,
and my kisses, sent to
nobody.
Its feel my thoughts,
stop
my own momentum.
The
freedom is fought against the manifest of madness.
Against
the feeling of be standing without anything under my feet.
Freedom is to fight for listen the silence.
The silence in the center of my thoughts.
In the hummingbirds, and the singing of the birds.
In all of that the freedom is hidden.
And noise that the typewriter of the shrink produces in the hall, dictating diagnose.
Generates the violent ravage of the madness, pounding each pounding.
And the freedom, over all, sleeps in the bed 14th,
where my refugee, my limb, and my salvation.
The one multiplied by itself;
infinite, like the aleph, I have tattooed next to my heart
The number 4,
like the four pillars oracle that defined the Greek destine, included mine.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
To Shortie
There Is something
unique
Behind those eyes
Like a Sun explotion.
Right there happens
A thousand kisses deep
& all the others
Love songs thats makes you
Cry
But, afterwords:
Neither you save me
& neither i fly
So the only thing thats remains
Is this funny smell
Of a memorie on your hips
Give me some clear water
That one thats spill into the rain
and seductively brings life
and life eventually gets
one degree higher
till the sun rises
and you can see
the desert flowers blooming,
and the wind,
colored gorgeous and chanting wind
takes away
my deep dream
about a pair of beautyful
eyes
cause thats belong
to eternity and God
and they are so sacred
as your bellybottom
and my wish
Mar 31, 2021
Mar 31, 2021 at 10:57 PM UTC
The tedium and mediocrity;
insepid, vapid, stale husks of souls
be nary a bit of resistance for
eccentric and eclectic spirits!
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 7:28 AM UTC
Roses are red, violets are blue. I was born beautyful, what happened to you? :)
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
You're favorite color was red,
like love
and blood.
I think about this as I gaze at the roses outside my window
they are so beautyful, yet so strong.
There are seventeen roses on the rosebuish.
That was your licky number,
you told me.
Well, I felt so lucky with you.
But now I see that I must have walked under a scarlet ladder
because I have lost you
or maybe a black cat crossed my path
or seventeen red cats.
I don't know what happened. All I know
is that I miss you,
and you're two red lips.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 11:03 PM UTC