We did not expect the world to end.We did not expect the world to end.It just did.We kept saying “It won't happen in our lifetime.”But it did.We closed our eyes to the cracks in the wallsand they crumbled around us.We forgot the decay in front of us.It was so easy to ignore.It ate away the foundations of our lives.Still we ignored itand claimed that life would go on.We did not see it coming.Even if it was right in front of us.We tried to repair the cracks in the damsthough the water had already washed us away.And though the clouds were black and redwe looked away.Or stared ourselves blind on the colour displayas our skin peeled away beneath the acidic rain.We dreamt of the skyand reached for the stars.Forgetting the ground beneath our feet.It tore apart at the seamsthe gaps too wide to repair.And the sun was setting on a worlddivided.We did not predict the true apocalypsethough many a prophet had tried.Their predictions were hollowand we lost faith.We did not listen to the real
Have you seen my dream?Have you seen my dream?It's not that bigBut it is mine.Have you heard my opinion?It's worth two centsIt's worth every dime.Have you touched my heart?It is very fragileBut I am willing to share.Have you seen my dream?It may not be muchBut at least I dare.
The girl in the pondIt was a warm summer night when I found her.Her dress was white with yellow sunflowers,and her auburn hair was spread out around her pale face.It looked like an ever changing halomoving gently in a soft breeze.She had lost a shoeLike CinderellaHer deep, blue eyes stared into heavenand the freckles of her skin drew constellationsagainst the pale background to mirror the stars above.Fish gently nibbled at her fingers and nestled in her hairpaying no heed to her ruby lips which her last breath had left openalmost like an invitation.I looked at herfascinatedI loved her...Thinking it was the least I could donow that she had been so carelessly abandoned.ForgottenIt was my duty to remember her.I took the memory of her and stuffed it awayfor safe keepingThe rest was just a shellnow empty and soon decayed.Then I leftleaving only the pond behind to swallow its secrets.
The WidowHow peacefully he sleepsupon soft, silken sheetsas I bend down to kissthe warmth from his lips.So softly he moansand whispers his final breathso regal and angelic he looks in death.I gently caress his curled, auburn hairpraying for the angels to take him in their care.So peacefully he sleepsupon soft, silken sheetsand I savour the tasteof his last, warm breathWhat God has in sacred marriageboundmay only be parted in death...
The heroes of old.Let the old heroes restbeneath ancient stonesburied in history and dressed in legends.Let the old kings risein marble and goldfor all to see and praise in forgotten stories.And when time comesfor the legends to breed lifelet then the old heroes serve their kingsin ever lasting stories of the golden past.
Harvesting Stars and building Castles.We harvest the stars from the skyAnd hide them in our pocketsCage them within jars of glassLike fireflies on a midsummer eve.We build castles of sand and airDevastated as the tide reclaims themBreathing deeply in quiet sobsAs the sand runs through our fingertips.We long and yearn for somethingNever quite able to define what it isReaching for straws to keep above waterAs the tide washes over us.And the winderases ourfootstepsin the sand.
The old man in the park There's an old man sitting on a bench in the park.A scruffy dog by his feet, on his lips a witty remark.Not a tooth in his mouth, but he smiles anyway.And if you ask him why, this is what he will say: “I have a song in my head, and a smile on my face.I have lived a full life of both sorrow and grace.I have love so plenty, and stories to share.And I live my life without a worry or care.”His wrinkles are a map of a long, lasting life.Of hard work, three sons, and a now deceased wife.His hearing may be bad, and his vision turning grey.But if you ask him, this is what he will say: “I have seen my share of wonders, my friendAnd I will hear the songs in my heart to the end.So what need have I for these senses, I ask?If they fail me, my memories shall rise to the task.”The old dog by his side gives a soft little whine.Licking his hand as if to tell him it is time.He smiles and stands, shakes my hand for goodbye.Then wanders off with a twink
Skipping Stones.We skip stones across the sandexpecting rings to spread in pre-historic oceansas Terra Firma recreates itself according to the original blueprints.We step closer to the brinkfor that leap of faith we never dared to takebefore the tide swept us off our feetand carried us beyond the edge of the ancient maps where“Here be Dragons”have been etched into the scorched earth like graffiti.Sentences get too long as we run out of words to form themspeaking with our bodies in a twisted dancewrithingtwistingblindlylike larvae burrowing into the crust of the earth.Seeking deeper towards the internal sunlike an imitation of Icarusdigging deeper until the core melts our waxen wingsand we become yet another particle of our own universe.All thisfrom ripples of oceans pastand the sand slipping between our fingertipsas we walk on bare feet across the heavensin search of answers we have yet to form the questions to.
Unspoken WordsUNSPOKENWORDSMay LingerINYOURMEMORYFar LongerTHANTHOSEThat HaveBEENVOICED
So SilentIt was so silent on the hill,She could hear her steps,Her breath...A look at the watch;Time's not passing,Not going away,Like a friend who waits, insists;BegsThat she must do something at last.
She Dances With FireShe dances with fire, a dragon in tow.Twirling with flames; graceful and slowShe dances tonight, in a city of ash.Her feet leaving footprints, where the sand will splash.Quietly mourning, as time goes by;Where once she beheld a home in her eyes...Yet naught but the barest of bones remain,And so she dances, to soothe the pain.
ellie.she was always agalaxy, and i am not allowed to touch stars.
To be a writerYou taste like decaying leavesand October's bad habits-when it’s halfway through Februarythat still haunts these bones.I have allowed you toclaw your loveinto my armsand chant into myuninterested earsfor much too long.I wish I was one of those girlswho could say wild flowersgrow up through my nooksand my crannies just to tearthrough my skin, screaming.I’m just that dead eyed deeron the side of the road dreamingof shoving a pen down my throatand writing these verses inside out.I am no scribe, prophet, or spell caster.I know it.My skin knows it.My pen knows it too.Years and yearsfrom nowmy mind will dwellon the way your fingerschain linked between my ribsand shook myvulnerable inside,violently.But,to be a writeris to be a masochist,and I refuse to get offon the pain anymore.
Stronger than SuicideYou are so much stronger than suicide.You are so much more powerful than the cuts on your arm,And so much better than your eating disorder.So much more than your scars.Darling,Please look me in the eyes,And show me your wounds,Whether they be on your forearm,Your wrist,Your mind,Or your heart.Sweetheart,Have you been skipping meals?Have you been cutting?Well, here’s something for you to try.Think one thing,Just one thing,EverySingleDay.Just remember to prove to the world,That youAre stronger thanSuicide.
I AmI am single,but I am loved.I am not a genius,but I am intelligent.I am not breathtaking,but I have beauty.I am not a saint,but I am kind.To the world,I am not perfect.But for someone,I am.
.in yourhead liesa well troddenpath;i want thewilderness
Before you kill yourself...Before you kill yourself,Remember just one little thing.There are places to go,Where you have never been before.How can you be sure those places are bad?There are things to see,Things you have never seen before.How can you be sure those things are ugly?There is a new tune to hear,Something you've never heard before.How can you be sure that tune is scary?There are words to be said,Things that have never been said before.How can you be sure those words are hurtful?There are dreams to be imagined,Things you have never dreamed before.How can you be sure that they are nightmares?Darling, please don't give up.Please stay strong.And please.Don't let go.
She's a WriterShe sits at her deskHer headphones in,The world shut out.She bleeds for othersAs words fly from Her mind to her fingertips.She stares at the screen,At every little comment,The good and the painful.She forms her emotionsInto books and poemsTo throw away the hurt.She's a writer,And her best weaponsAre her mind and her pen.
or maybe it actually is.thisis nota love poem:this is not aboutme and how i hatethe way realism tastes.this is about you.this is about how youare one too many shades arrogant,how nearly every night youtry to forget that time hasleft you behind. this isabout your laugh and the way itwhispers "i can't rememberwhat i was like before ibecame this." and,if i'm being honest, this is abouthow i will never see your toococky for your own damn good grin thatmakes me go weak in the knees.this is about youand how you're not real and how i wishto god that i wasn't either.
It's Not Polite To Lie.Hush, sweetie,Do not let their judgments define you.Do not let their hatred construct you.Do not let their words build you.Hush, sweetie,Do not let your sorrow swallow you.Do not let your pain devour you.Do not let your loneliness change you.Hush, sweetie,Stop telling yourself lies,Stop screaming in a whisper that you'reUglyInside and out.Stop telling yourself that you'reWorthless.Stop telling yourself that you'reBroken,And hopeless,And damaged.Hush, sweetie...It's not polite to lie.
Poets And Artists.I am self-destructive.You are the affected.I’m a thought that’s still in motion.You’re an idea perfected.I’m a sacrifice without you.But with your life, I’m injected.I’m a thousand puzzle pieces.You’re the way to connect it.
The Sun and the Rain (poem)RainbowsThe sun was a pretty girl;Dressed in ribbons and bows.Each day she brightened up the earthWith her crimson orange glow.The rain was cold and bitter;Friends with the sleet and snow.His heart hung heavy with misery,His songs were full of woe.One day they collided.The sun said “Don’t you know?The grey and cloudy tears will soon disappear;I think you’re great just so.”So up in the sky togetherThey let their love flow.It leapt from their hearts, across the worldAnd became a rainbow.
reasons why we should be in loveif I couldI’d love you likethose couples who growinto each other and makepoetry out of body languageand wear one another’sweaknesses when they gettoo heavy and talk aboutthe weather without ever reallymeaning the weather at all;and you’d keep me fromfalling asleep in the oceanand I’d lie about littlethings, always confusingSunday for Tuesday andyou for somebody withthe same face whowas always afraid ofme. you’d chuckle andhold me and I’d cave in toyou like the hungry tideand you’d say I lookedbeautiful when I criedand I wouldn’t believe youbut I’d cry more anyways.if people were alive,you’d be the brightestone. I don’t have muchto offer but I could write youa million dedicationsin the sand, and give youpocket change when youneeded a wish; I couldtake you to New Zealandto paint water lilies or Englandto go skydiving or Italyto fall in love and mean itand I would promise youthe moon an
First friend, first loveI’ve been sitting alone for so longThat I’ve forgotten the meaning of "friend"But just when I started to think I don’t belongYou became a person that I could befriendBut as time passed along, you seemed like more to meMy heart would grow warm, every time we’d speakBut I just don’t know if we could ever beBut I’ll take the first step, to start something unique
how to be a writergrab a sharpie and paint your nose,your cheeks,(yes even under your eyes)with freckles;write about them.adopt a dishonest love forbooksand showcase it with your speech;fill it to the brim with references.love bukowski,especially if you haven't read himand don't know who he diedloving.listen to music you will never liketo write verses everyone elsewill;make them say yeswhen you're writing about sayingno.glorify your sadness.it can be innovatedbut nevereradicated,and every chance you getat it,is ill-fated.fall in love with people youknow your parents will hate.love till you are out of space tobreathe,write about the seaand how it's fuckingunderstanding;write about space and howthe universe is either against youor with us all in equaldamnedproportions.belittle yourself,praise yourself,(deny it)hideliecheatbehind your words;start writing the truthwith your lies.engulf metaphors in the morning,condemn sobriety,find depression a
Don't be scared, darling.We're going to try something newEating our meals, and swallowing each bite,Not hiding the chewed up remains under our tongue,And not making ourselves vomit through the night.We're going to try something new,Bringing the liquor down from our lips,Not turning to the alcohol for comfort,Until the addiction rips.We're going to try something new,Throwing away the needles, the pins, and the bladesNot searching underneath our skin for emotion,Watching the wounds and the scars fade.We're going to try something new,Darling, I challenge you, I dare you.We're going to try something new...Darling,Why does that scare you?
Hard TimesI see you’ve been weeping for some time nowYou’re all torn out and coldEven if all you see is darknessYou’re the bit of light that’s shiningAnd I know you don’t have controlBut you can't just let goBecause if one day you do, you might lose yourselfThen I’ll be left alone, with no one to hold.
StorytellerStorytellertell me a story.A fable of wisdomor a tale of glory.Sing me a songof dreams andof wonder.Stories of kingdoms risingand worlds going under.Draw me a picturewith colours so brightand spin me a fairytaleto dream of tonight.