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"sreaching" poems
love, what is love, the timeles question..the age old question of every human walking ..is it hormones.. is it lust to its highest..is it rather heart reaching pain so great it becomes a new feeling all together..ask me that question ill give you my answer.. ask him hell give his answer..ask the old lady moruning her loves death and she will give you her answer..the young man weeping for the lost love that slipped thou his quick fingers..they all have their ideal..they all cry for their ideal of the age old pain they quest for..the ultamate high , the quickness they mourn.. love, what is love, is it kind and forgiveing..forgetful..ever lasting..the souls walking this earth sreaching for the sliver cord,weeping daily, dieing inside for they missed that chance..the age old question of every human..what is love..You ask me i cry.. is burning and mournful, and lost its pain and joy wraped in a beatuful package tossed to the side by the needs of those in love..its forgetting you cried for someone..quick lighting speed demands on the heart for it cries to be loved back as the heart does ..sliped thou fingers time robs youth and beatuy , love replaces grey hairs and wrinkels and tears ..seals up cracks of wounded souls..touches so soft it breaks your heat to think it will fade..love is....clueless..
0
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC
ravenlily
Timeless
love, what is love, the timeles question..the age old question of every human walking ..is it hormones.. is it lust to its highest..is it rather heart reaching pain so great it becomes a new feeling all together..ask me that question ill give you my answer.. ask him hell give his answer..ask the old lady moruning her loves death and she will give you her answer..the young man weeping for the lost love that slipped thou his quick fingers..they all have their ideal..they all cry for their ideal of the age old pain they quest for..the ultamate high , the quickness they mourn.. love, what is love, is it kind and forgiveing..forgetful..ever lasting..the souls walking this earth sreaching for the sliver cord,weeping daily, dieing inside for they missed that chance..the age old question of every human..what is love..You ask me i cry.. is burning and mournful, and lost its pain and joy wraped in a beatuful package tossed to the side by the needs of those in love..its forgetting you cried for someone..quick lighting speed demands on the heart for it cries to be loved back as the heart does ..sliped thou fingers time robs youth and beatuy , love replaces grey hairs and wrinkels and tears ..seals up cracks of wounded souls..touches so soft it breaks your heat to think it will fade..love is....clueless..
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2
Looking for a sign, Sreaching life, Catching glimspes of life Life moves as a fast moving train on a path of never ending unknowns. Standing in the middle is the lost and clueless trying to catch that ride. Some fall and lay their tears crying in their own pain Some fall and rise to a higher standard of pain to Fall harder. Some get lucky to have the train slow down so they can glide on as their ease. Some just fight, fight and fight more for what ride they need want or demand in life thats best for them. The fighters, are the woundec broken and rebuilt and put together with cheap glue.. But they fight With blood seeping from their eyes They fight for what makes them breath.. Live Or just keep going All to get to the end of the ride of their dreams Even when they feel its A lost ride and the conducter of the beatuiful train has given up and left They fight inner battles Ugly monsters And protect what they need for that prefect ride.... Now ask me what i am? A fighter or someone who gives up to the pain and lets the world step on them as they go by...ask me..i dare you..
0
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 3:07 PM UTC
ravenlily
ask me...
Looking for a sign, Sreaching life, Catching glimspes of life Life moves as a fast moving train on a path of never ending unknowns. Standing in the middle is the lost and clueless trying to catch that ride. Some fall and lay their tears crying in their own pain Some fall and rise to a higher standard of pain to Fall harder. Some get lucky to have the train slow down so they can glide on as their ease. Some just fight, fight and fight more for what ride they need want or demand in life thats best for them. The fighters, are the woundec broken and rebuilt and put together with cheap glue.. But they fight With blood seeping from their eyes They fight for what makes them breath.. Live Or just keep going All to get to the end of the ride of their dreams Even when they feel its A lost ride and the conducter of the beatuiful train has given up and left They fight inner battles Ugly monsters And protect what they need for that prefect ride.... Now ask me what i am? A fighter or someone who gives up to the pain and lets the world step on them as they go by...ask me..i dare you..
Continue reading...
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