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.
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
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 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 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
Dream(e)scapeI close my eyes and disappearbeyond the winding paths of my subconsciousnessThere are so many shiny objects therewaiting to be picked up and rememberedDreams hiding away from the light of daydreamt again in the darkness of nightUnfolding as I delve into themI open doors I had forgotten I had closedpeering inside the dusty chambers of my secretsLong forgotten memories resurfacing in new shapesI jump into a magic suitcasefollowing the subway through morphing landscapesColourful people wearing colourful masksare getting ready for their performance on the stageI walk amongst them like a silent ghostJust a spectator watching the showA puppet master dictating the movesI am the playwright writing the script for my dreamsI fold my hands and watch as it unfoldsuntil I wake up from my dream(e)scape.
Unspoken WordsUNSPOKENWORDSMay LingerINYOURMEMORYFar LongerTHANTHOSEThat HaveBEENVOICED
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.
So SilentSo 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.
ellie.she was always agalaxy, and i am not allowed to touch stars.
In my head...In my head,The birds that fly above meAre the dragons of my kingdom.In my head,Cats and dogs are lions and wolves,And my fish is a sea monster.In my head,My pen is a sword,And I’m fighting witches and evil menTo find my prince charming.In my head,Butterflies spin through the airAnd fly through my bedroom windowsTo whisper things in a languageThat only I understand.In my head,There is a world other thanThese black and white dreamsAnd these faded grey skies.In my head,There is a universe.Can’t you see it, too?
On WritingWrite for todayAnd like it’s allThat’ll be left of youTomorrow.Never write for popularity.Write with clarity, but‘Don’t make everything said’.Write a million things;An ode to the voiceInside your head,An elegy for the living,A carpe diem for the dead.Write to tellPeople goingThrough hell,To just keepGoing;They’ll find a way out.Don’t write for approval,Or judgement;That way misery lies.Poetry can’t be judged,Not properly –It’s subjective,Different toDifferent eyes.Write for yourself;Doesn’t matter if it’sGood enough forAnyone else.You’ll never be Shakespeare.But he’d neverHave been you;Pour your heart into it,That’s the bestThat you can do.
This is for the Average ArtistIt is painful at times,Seeing those born with skill and talent.They paint such beautiful things, using the barest of material.Entire worlds are spun at their fingertips, all from a dot of paint.I think sometimes, of how nice it must be,To be able to capture such beauty, within the borders of a page.To spin a tale from but the smallest of phrases,To create a fantastic adventure from a mundane experience.It is painful indeed at times. When I am seated in this room,Surrounded by the dull hum of failure and regret,I ask myself, with eyes burning in the mirror,Am I finally ready to give it all up?'No!' I sayI will not let it end this way!Not without a fight, not until I know that I am utterly broken.The good lord may have blessed you with talent my friend,He has given you everything that I could have ever desired...But there is one thing that I have earned;One little gift that remains my own.You would not know of it,Since you have never felt it,An
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.
breaking a writer's heart.never break a writer’s heartbecause your namewill forever belong to us.you will sign itinto every broken bitand one day, you’ll open a bookwith yourselfnext to the words"let me tell you about the timei was hurt."--never break a poet’s heartbecause between the beatof the stanzas,you’ll hear that heartbeat,hammering harderproving you wrongwith every line.--never break a writer’s heartbecause we will take the painand make it into somethingyou could never live down.you could live with heart monitors,that measured the damaged pulse,doctors who told you,“she's critical.”but you can’t live with the bold strokes,smooth as a flatline,that accuse you of beingthe best thingthat’s ever happened to them.you can’t live with it;our soulmate, now writing.You, now replacedby a pen.--never break anybody’s heartbecause you’ll cut yourselfon the pieces of it.and see, hearts heal.s
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.
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.
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
We Were SoldiersYou'll never hear me say that there's glory in war.It is ugly, it is painful, it is frightening...But I know, in my heart;Deep within this soul born of freedom.That what I do, at times, is a necessity.It is nerve-wracking, most days,Knowing that when you wake up you may not make it home.But still I am proud, Because of what I have managed to achieve.And tonight; I hope that you're proud of me,Because I'm sending a hundred of my boys home.I just wish that I was joining them this time...
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.
Evanescentonly the mostbeautiful of creatureslive the shortest.red roses and quiveringbutterflies and otheruseless things, like theway she wishes on every starshe sees for a differentsoul because she can't standthe way it's rotting inside.and it's only whenthe thorns beneath her skinstart to bleed that hermonsters whisper, "haveyou ever trembled, my dear?"because they knowfor every whimper that hidesfaintly in the dark,there is a pair of lips stretchedinto a smile pretendingthat all that is beautifulis timeless and unbroken.
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?
Fake How are you? I am fine, thank you. Stop lying… How was your weekend? It was great, tons of fun! Besides the nights I spent crying…. Are you sure you’re okay?
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
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.