"mythed" poems - Hello Poetry

comparing you of such two separate things, seemed to leave an everlasting crazed effect on my mind. you left me searching for days, ink contained within this pen spilling in the depths of my mind all for the simplest of creative comparison to emerge from my chest. Not to leave me with this deep regret splurging from my spine. hoping to have these words come across the tongue like the images stuck behind my lips. hoping the words I mutter before you align to the fullest of my reoccurring thoughts: It is mythed out to be, that the silliest of all things named the bumble bee is a gift well given. The sweetest provided taste mixed deep within your tea. A sweeter taste, Not known to man. How hard the bee works, all for the tea you drink day by day, is there a thought in your mind wondering when will it fade? Comparing events with your actions, Easier than that batter of the eye Comparing yourself to your actions, No words will ever be able to sum up the emotions that you’ve spilled inside of me and left the mess. Here are some words may regret: Sometimes upon listening to the bird out near the window, I would seem to of heard your voice between their calls That soon turned into their dearest of songs. The bird in my opinion, Which is never recognized by the wise Seems to be one of the loveliest creatures, I ever did see. Unappreciated by some, Noticed by next to none. The way they come and go, No warning just sudden betrayal by the ones paying notice, Keeps me in wonder of why a return at all ever surfaces through their mind. Much like you to me, Why a sudden go Shorts out all the matter, Leaving the return you present me with, All that’s on my mind. I say this because I heard by a few, How lovely the birds sound in a spring’s earliest day. I compare you to the birds because after a while, we pay next to none of a care, the beauty of the returnal, and the saddens that should fill us in their betrayal.

0

Feb 10, 2014

Feb 10, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC

annabel-lee-

birds and the bee's

comparing you of such two separate things, seemed to leave an everlasting crazed effect on my mind. you left me searching for days, ink contained within this pen spilling in the depths of my mind all for the simplest of creative comparison to emerge from my chest. Not to leave me with this deep regret splurging from my spine. hoping to have these words come across the tongue like the images stuck behind my lips. hoping the words I mutter before you align to the fullest of my reoccurring thoughts: It is mythed out to be, that the silliest of all things named the bumble bee is a gift well given. The sweetest provided taste mixed deep within your tea. A sweeter taste, Not known to man. How hard the bee works, all for the tea you drink day by day, is there a thought in your mind wondering when will it fade? Comparing events with your actions, Easier than that batter of the eye Comparing yourself to your actions, No words will ever be able to sum up the emotions that you’ve spilled inside of me and left the mess. Here are some words may regret: Sometimes upon listening to the bird out near the window, I would seem to of heard your voice between their calls That soon turned into their dearest of songs. The bird in my opinion, Which is never recognized by the wise Seems to be one of the loveliest creatures, I ever did see. Unappreciated by some, Noticed by next to none. The way they come and go, No warning just sudden betrayal by the ones paying notice, Keeps me in wonder of why a return at all ever surfaces through their mind. Much like you to me, Why a sudden go Shorts out all the matter, Leaving the return you present me with, All that’s on my mind. I say this because I heard by a few, How lovely the birds sound in a spring’s earliest day. I compare you to the birds because after a while, we pay next to none of a care, the beauty of the returnal, and the saddens that should fill us in their betrayal.

53

A spherical furnace lights the world His great love mimics his efforts at night Orbs daytime warmth doth flowers unfurl Her pale lunar grace cradles lovers in flight An embrace that is mythed in the ages of men Portents of great things from dessert to fen Their coupling is spied with shielded eye Until she leaves his bright daytime sky

0

Feb 22, 2018

Feb 22, 2018 at 7:53 AM UTC

Cana

The Original Tragedy.

A spherical furnace lights the world His great love mimics his efforts at night Orbs daytime warmth doth flowers unfurl Her pale lunar grace cradles lovers in flight An embrace that is mythed in the ages of men Portents of great things from dessert to fen Their coupling is spied with shielded eye Until she leaves his bright daytime sky

8

Jubal Cain trained his children, his brother, Tubal, trained his, as well. When stories grow in prehistorical shade, all letters symbol references locked away, when the little people in blue Phrygian caps, acknowledge the big strong wombed Liberties, wearing with honor the red Phrygian caps. Freedom from all forms of mental tyranny, snaps medically induced connection across synaptic gaps. Who, who? We heard it, on the radio. Life in my time has been totally unique, in time as a whole, scientifically, we, even we two, just me and you, agreeing, as touching, any thing, a thought, a thing? being used to make you think, once more what if, we do, and never tell? what if this is telling? what if we knew?

0

Jul 18, 2024

Jul 18, 2024 at 5:54 PM UTC

kenpepiton

Mythed aims rethunk

Jubal Cain trained his children, his brother, Tubal, trained his, as well. When stories grow in prehistorical shade, all letters symbol references locked away, when the little people in blue Phrygian caps, acknowledge the big strong wombed Liberties, wearing with honor the red Phrygian caps. Freedom from all forms of mental tyranny, snaps medically induced connection across synaptic gaps. Who, who? We heard it, on the radio. Life in my time has been totally unique, in time as a whole, scientifically, we, even we two, just me and you, agreeing, as touching, any thing, a thought, a thing? being used to make you think, once more what if, we do, and never tell? what if this is telling? what if we knew?

21