Want to help w/ scripts or turn a poem into a video? In Southern California? Want to make videos or play games/sports/physical activities? Got 2 free groups on FB (can be on other...
They tore out the rails, the ties and the spikes
Now it's a trail, where people ride bikes
Those tracks through the woods, where we used to play
Those trains that rolled by there...
In the tattered shards of lasting embrace I feel the nick of you lingering cool as winter's solstice,
feel the nick of you like a dagger cold upon the intangible grace of my skin...
Smoldering fire of hearts desire
Longing for release
Dancing beneath a winters moon
Words are meaningless
Tonight I see the truth
The holes in the hopes
Swift motions of the swooping rain left only remnants of what it used to be. Soaked in a puddle on the concrete. Becoming the collective soul of one. Rather than individuals. The...
I have to concentrate.
This is important, this poem.
A poem about poetry.
I have to do this, I CAN do this.
Oh, look, a butterfly!
When I write... It just takes over. It's why I need your touch. I keel over. The pain of separation and teasing aberration I meekly grow distant and I fumble in the distance. Hello...
There’s a window in my head
That only I can see
It is the gate way to my fantasy
There I am a hero, master and king
I am capable of doing anything
When I dwell there the world...
I think a lot about that weekend when I was with you. It brings a smile to my face when I think of it. I know I should have let it go by now but I struggle at times...
Daddy, I've tried so very hard
To find sense where there was none
You see, in my head, there was always a you and me
I know you are gone now
Two years since I last saw you back...
Please wait for me tonight my dear
Please wait for me tonight
There’s nothing that you need to fear
For I will put things right
You had to go away from me
Because you’d lost...
I know my words don't mean much.
There is not much I can say.
You are happy now,
I notice every day.
I'm careful with what I do
I dare not want to wreck it
So that is...
I love to write. I love that it's my style. it's the totality of myself given life through my own powers of expression and thrust forth into the world of concrete actuality.
So my most recent post was considered 18 and up, despite featuring no s)x or swearing. It forces me to realize how graphic the nature of my writing can be. I am a sadistic...
It’s a sign of the times
The once bustling high street lies empty and forlorn
I walk down what used to be a busy area
And empty shops stretch as far as the eye can see
The day I flew you to Howarth
Wing'd Angel of Poetry
You followed willingly.
Through the wet winds of the Moors
The strife of a life a World...
This was actually an assignment in a writing class. It was to write a story or poem from a child's point of view.
There were others too. Write from the opposite genders point of...
Everything is always just out of my reach
Beauty, love, all the things that I need
I'm lacking, I'm lacking, I never succeed
I'm forever in need, always in want
And all I can do...
He built her up
To watch her fall
He used her body
Didn't care at all
He took and took
til not a thing she could find
She had nothing left to give
He had even claimed her mind
John Tan 2
By: Cierra Leonard
Written: March 1st and 4th, 2015
I miss you terribly
As I write this I have no way of knowing
If you will ever get to read it
Do you know those tender moments ? Those sweet dreams beyond this bridge? I stare at them now and they seem so far away?
What I once was and what I am now. The pain residual...
Poetry has always been a way for me to express myself.
My poems used to be lovey dovey and very sappy but I got bored with those styles.
I adore macabre poetry. Edgar Allan Poe...
I haven't written a poem in years. I may attempt to write one soon
I used to believe, due to complications and present situations
that i fell in love with the wrong person.
But when I look in his eyes
there is a light
in my soul and a fire
Suicide Brings Out The Truth
The blade that cuts so deep
The forgotten love that make you weak
The faded scars, the torn up heart
The tears nobody can see
You wish for his hand...
Writing is my way to escape.
If left alone with my thoughts, it would devastate.
Holding my reality, how much do I take
Spitting not quitting is how my mind demonstrates.