I love to write more than anything else. It's not just a passion, it's a compulsion. I write down everything and nothing, every little thought or insight, every emotion. I like poetry and free writing the most; I can not be bothered with form or coherent plot lines. I just write...
I dream of you on the distant sky
Flying and soaring across my mind
When its quiet and all is gone I feel like I can fly
My heart skips a beat after dancing from a dream
A picture of your heart melting me like a sun beam
Oh what I wouldn't give to just hold your hand
As I sat on my chair working a wonderful puzzle with Molly, she's our youngest, but you already know that... silly me. She is excited to have found yet another piece of the beautiful mountains and the fact that you made this puzzle just for us makes it that much better. We talk...
A love so deep within my soul has bloomed. A mad crazy love at times. How do I let this grow and not be trampled by the weeds. I need to protect both our hearts, but I'm like a man trapped in the wrong body and the wrong time and the wrong mind.
Dreaming and wishing for a...
My best writing comes from my soul. I feel it is raw and honest and unfiltered. It is straight from the heart. I am eager to join this group and share some poetry from my own soul. I recently wrote a book of poetry online. It is a collection of poetry I have written over the...
D =IS DREAMING OF ANYTHING ******R=IS REMEMBERING WHAT IT WAS LIKE******** E =IS DREAMING EVERYTHING OLD AND NEW AS LONG AS THERE IS A STORY TO BE TOLD *THATS**TRUE***A= IS NEVER AMITTING ANYTHING AS YOUR DREAMS ARE NOT FOR EVEYONE ****M= IS MUSIC YOU CAN HEAR THAT CAN TAKE...
When I write, the words to me are like burning flames.
For each line I type, it is burned in on paper, or the ashes left by the fire.
On machine it is more like a fast laser. Word for word. At the beginning it might not be clear what one is writing, but toward the end one...
It’s a lie, I know. I can see it in your eyes, in the flickering shadows that their depths try in vain to burrow. It’s just another lie, to keep me awake these cold winter nights, shivering in their freezing wake. Your words run over my heart like rivulets of ice, entering...
My heart is a cruel, fickle spirit.
Darkness and emptiness are so much more bearable when one feels one can create from that abyss.
Without God and without people in my life, my Muse is the one presence that keeps me together.
She is thought, she is emotion, she is motion...
I lost it.
It is just not there.
Maybe I'll get it back.
We keep saying
When you love
You set it free.
I love that part of my soul
I'm letting it go.
So many words left unheard.
I even made a group for it.
There were finally a few clouds and I could finally see the sun shine. I felt the sun on my chest beating against me after a cold hard winter. It called to mind your continued kindness and how it melted my heart and filled my soul with happiness. There I was stuck in a moment...
When I write I write from my heart, my soul.
How else can I share with others who I am.
How else can I hope to make you see me and the things I've been through.
When I read other stories here I see or it seems many of you do the same.
Is there any other way?
My soul is like a butterfly...
There is a moment in which a voice tells me
The time has come for a big metamorphosis
Where my vibrant wings of tender lace ...
Can be more colorful and bright
For the world to see and feel