"morendo" poems
Flowing blue and
Majestic purple flecked with a
Staccato of yellow, marked by the
Adagio of green and
Accented silver
Caesura.
Dolce is the rosa and lapis that
Crescendo into
Fortissimo red and a
Vivace of cerulean --
Sforzando of orange!
Decrescendo into emerald, a
Morendo into the dark
Grazioso, where rests a
Fermata of rainbow.
At least this is what I see
On the black and white
Sheet of paper.
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 8:35 AM UTC
Torna amore
vela delicata e libera
che occupi
il pensiero della mia terra
sto morendo sulla grandiosità di un fiume
che è rosso di desiderio
e vorrebbe
travolgere il tuo amore.
432
Have you ever wondered what the after life is like....
Have it ever crossed your mind that earth could be hell and then when you die that, that would be when you are truly alive
Or that we live in someone else's dream and then someday we would wake and meet reality
I know that I'm afraid to sleep or to think or just to be alone
Because that is when I'm vulnerable....
When my demons would come out and play,
Like im their playground.
They know what to say
Lol
They don't need to say anything because I would do it anyway...
One cut here and there....
A note saying I'm sorry and I love them....
They are not the one to blame and if they seek the truth they wil never find it...
Because it's buried with me.
Maybe I have the wrong idea on life
Or maybe it's life that treat you like **** and expect you to treat it like a king
Or maybe I just don't know how to live life as if it would be my last day...
Nahh it's not that...
I know I'm tired...
My soul seeking death...
My mind trying to think of a way to **** myself
And my body just doing what my mind tells it to do..
I'm not scared of the dark, maybe that's part of the problem
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 2:59 PM UTC
a basin of white chipped enamel
tips the wash over the pale streets;
lights appear in the random order
of secret intent, confused stars in
an untidy sky light the northern stone;
hours slip behind a rook's shadow
as a rain curtain falls : we sigh with
routine,we are waiting for a small, clean death,
trapped between the sun and the moon
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 4:52 AM UTC