"thoughful" poems
When you call me.
When you write me.
When you whisper sweet words.
You're thoughful.
I'm asborded by your expressional heart.
When you reach out to me.
When you kis me.
When hold me.
When you say you lost without me.
You're thoughful.
When I'm sick.
And you are there.
When you sick.
And I am there.
We thoughtful toward one another.
You considerate in every way.
You someone that special to me in many ways.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 4:49 PM UTC
There are words that hurt and heal
Hurts like a knife that doesnt cut it hurts as if tho
Why say things you dont really mean
To hurt the hurter two bads dont make a good
Two goods dont make a bad but a good
If you get hurt say thoughful things back
Rather than a blind minded attack
You will heal your self in the process
It'll confuse the hurter and it will upset and they will stop
Words arent always there to be said sometimes your mind is desert dead
All things that are said to hurt is because they are jealous
They really wish to be you
They really wish to have you
Or they really are down right heartless
God's always watching weither you believe it or not
You may not see him or hear him but its not same on his point of view
Bring him in your heart you will feel new from the start
Love the world as God does all will go good or it will get slightly better
More you trust in him the easier it will be in life
You have my word.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
letters sit
in order,
line by line
at attention,
waiting for
thoughful reading.
a road,
of sorts,
to redemption
sitting, mulling
ruminating on
scripted worth.
engaged in
conveying thought,
from mind
to page,
to mind
again cyclical,
periodic conversely,
intermittent reoccurrences.
alone most,
are little
strokes of
graphite or
ink calligraphy,
mutterings of
little intonations,
phonectic sonances,
utterings, begetting
for their,
episodic isolation,
mumbo, jumbo,
gibberish as
birthing rooms
but together
ordered, united,
babble becomes
lucent, lucid
oratory of
inordanate worth.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
She realised inspiration was all around her,
She could change her hand writing like a chameleon would his colour,
Her thoughful mind had so much to say,
Not through her mouth but her fingers per se,
When faced with challenges,
She'd create pages,
Pages of words of encouragement,
She chose poetry because it was one of the things she did with so much ease and without worry of being wrong,
So she chose poetry.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 12:48 AM UTC
Run to make distance
With those who catch up.
Run to observe
Whose who torment.
Beware, lest tou run
With ease and length
For these catch up.
Run fast and short,
Stop and turn,
Observe.
Those who torment catch up.
Stand firm,
Those who catch up keep going.
Thoughful, weave through
With knowledge observed.
Let those who catch up
Pass
For they can’t turn back.
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC
yet again
the night came
and she sat there
hopeless
and
thoughful
what would her future be?
she laughed,
for wishing her life away
was her only virtue
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
yet again
the night came
and she sat there
hopeless
and
thoughful
what would her future be?
she laughed,
for wishing her life away
was her only virtue
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC