for a heart,
And ink runs through her veins,
She'll write you into her story,
With the typewriter in her brain,
Her bookshelf's getting crowded,
With all the stories that she's penned,
Of the people who flicked through her pages,
But closed the book before the end,
in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless...
Who would find magic on the ground,
As though the secret to real joy
Was something left lying around.
She'd pull it out of library books,
Their pages ripped and worn,
And swore that she could see it
In the air before a storm.
If you're wary of believing
Know I'm no...
it's funny how hello is always accompanied with goodbye it's funny how good memories can start to make you cry it's funny how forever never seems to last it's funny how much you'd lose if you forgot about your past it's funny how “friends” can just...
My mascara isn't waterproof!
"Everything in my head went quiet.
All the ticks, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared.
When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don't really get quiet moments.
Even in bed, I’m thinking:
Did I lock the doors? Yes.
sooraj rahtay thay
Kuch sooraj mann ka pagal tha
kuch chand shookh aur chanchal thay
basti basti phirtay aur har pal hanstay rehtay thay
phir ik din donon rooth gaye
saray sapnay toot gaye
ab chand bhi us waqt aata hai
sooraj jab soo jata hai
badal shab say kehtay hain
diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth
Then took the other, and just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted...
mind;bathing me in sweet acronyms,traced upon curve in calligraphywhile whispering in prose our dreamsand...he'd dip his quill; inking upon my skin,noun's and verb's I'd absorb into my heartthen...my poet, whispers again sweepingme off my feet in syllabic count;taking control of...
have some work published some day (if the Hollywood superstar thing doesn't happen first)..but in case it takes a while here's her first published work..text to me by her elder sister this morning.
"I wonder why
The moon is high
It's like a pie
Up in the sky"
that I made.
It's called 'A Rose On Concrete.' Tell me what you think!
"Dreams are nothing but absurd
That's what they choose to believe,
Oho! They must have never heard
About the rose that grew on the concrete,
Why do they choose to be blind
When the truth is there to see...
than the others. He was exciting and made her feel things she had never felt before, touching secret places of longing inside her, she never knew existed. He did alarming things to her heart and mind she couldn't explain. He was deliciously dangerous and that's exactly why she...
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we’ve hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
After a while you learn the subtle difference
between holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
and company doesn't always mean security.
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises
and you begin...
Winding through the leaves
Coming from my screams.
The darkness, the darkness
Rushing through the air,
Twirling in my hair
Gathering in their lairs.
The darkness, the darkness
Sprinting on the earth,
Coming from my hearth.
Beating down all my worth.
The darkness, the...
and fun time may always be in your heart no matter how far apart you may slip.
Light to dark
Dusk to dawn
Comfort in the heart
Brings light to the room.
Helps heal the soul, treasures to be seen all sparkles around. Warmth of two souls connected by the heart, never let that...
winding, tangled,Into sweet nothingness,InsignificantSleeping hidden, overgrown,darker, deeperRock bound pathsmisted and rain drenched,Where with one misstep,You might stumble,You might slip,If you are lucky,Into a real life.~Jl Stanley~
and it's call cause you're a joke and your mommy and daddy are both a joke. jokes fkin jokes and giving birth to ugly arse jokes YOU..A poor joke you pathetic little fkin jokes. hope you like the poem about a joke.. your life story-a joke :) "......
It is from an EP user...
It's always the underlying, the vibe, the subtle nuances that shimmer behind the words. Although sometimes you sense what you don't want to.."I'm passionate about poetry because I'm an oceanic person, meaning, I love what's underlying. I love the conversation that isn't just...
I seemed to have loved you numberless times, in numberless forms...
In life afer life, age after age, forvever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear around your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age...
that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying...
If I showed you my teardrops,
Would you collect them like rain,
Store them in jars,
That are labelled with "Pain",
Would you follow their tracks,
From my eyes down my cheeks,
As they write all the stories,
I'm too scared to speak,
Would you stop them with kisses...
Is love found in holding hands?
In quiet whispers?
In looks shared across a crowded room?
Is love shared in notes?
Is love felt with a quickening pulse?
A feeling of loss in her absence?
A longing to see but a glimpse of her?
Is love heard through...
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day.
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands, the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your...
for seeking love through other outlets.
Love hurts sometimes and yes I know this now.
Maybe I didn't love you right or maybe it's not my fault.
Why point the gun when there's no bullets in it?
Forget the past because it's been a while since I've heard your voice.
across space I guess
will be all we will know of one another.
So little of what one is threads itself through the eye
of empty space.
The self is the least of it.
Let our scars fall in love.
From "The Book of Nightmares" by Galway...
To see my heart and soul.
No lips but yours,
Pressed firmly to mine,
Soft, warm, intoxicating...
No hands but yours,
To hold tenderly in my own,
To feel them moving over my body,
Thrilling and arousing me to my core.
No arms but yours,
Holding me and pulling me
So close to you...
With maddening hunger
I?d write to the point of suffocation
I?d write myself into nervous breakdowns
Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing
And I?d write about you
a lot more
than I should -Benedict Smith-
after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half acre, square mile, island, country
knowing at last how you got there,
and say I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
there soft arms from around you,
the birds take...
had the lust to kill,
To clutch a throat so young and fair,
And squeeze with all my might until
No breath of being lingered there.
Three times I drove the demon out,
Though on my brow was evil sweat. . . .
And yet I know beyond a doubt
He'll get me yet, he'll get me yet.
The cars pass in a hurry,
not taking in the scenery.
As I sit on the sill,
I watch the world pass by.
The people just strolling by,
ignorant to the beauty of life.
As I sit on the sill,
I watch the world pass by.
Nature turns from Spring to Summer.
Summer to fall
And suddenly we...
and stretched himself (things were gathering pace now) and looked at where the pump had been that the soldiers had blown up so that nothing should be left standing, and complained, saying, “What are we going to do about water?,” he, Michael K, would produce a teaspoon from...