This page was inspired originally to feature the various styles of poetry, and a little on rhyme and meter.
Poetry is a way to express differant emotions, and a way to tell people things such as love and hate. This page is designed with the poet and readers in mind. Post your favorit poems, hell, even your own. But be sure to give proper credit to the Author, even if it yourself.
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Another day has come and gone, yet the loneliness and longing to love and be loved still lingers here
Deep down in the very depths of my soul refusing to go unnoticed
Memories of how it felt to love and be loved torment me during the day and in my dreams
Why can't my heart and body forget how it feels to be loved
How the gentle caress of fingertips against my cheek and a soft loving glance can bring a smile to my lips
How being held in the arms of the one I love can warm my heart and chase away all the sadness and troubles
Why must I fight this constant battle that seems to go on without end
My mind keeps telling me to give up on love because it doesn't exist, but my heart tells me to keep on trying because it does
No matter how great the pain I feel I know that I have to continue on, not only for my sake but for my son's
Holding on to hope that love does exist for my son and I, looking to the heavens for guidance and strength
Saying a quiet prayer each night that the next day will be a little easier then before
Who knows maybe, just maybe some day I will once again feel the presence of love in my life
and I will know nothing but the joy of how it feels to be loved by someone whom you love in return
There you sit. Voiceless and pale against others just like you. For $2.79, who would ever think you could make a difference. But on a day like every other, he comes along. The boy with a million dreams and no way to keep them. You imagine the things he must desire and hope behind those black-rimmed glasses. You fathom the freedom frightened to remain inside his head hurricane hundreds of yearns a second, even as he walks down your aisle. His fingers linger loosely at the ends of his arms as he reads the nutrition facts, but you can feel his fingers already, even as he picks up a few others to read the small print of “Replace cap after each use” and you know instantly that his fingers will soon clutch you in the kind of embrace a writer would to his pen, which is now you. You’re ecstatic. You dance against the clear plastic cover and cardboard backboard with muted joy, so muted that you don’t want him to hear you and change his mind as he carries you to the register. He drops 300 pennies for you, he tells the cashier to keep the change as he smiles at you and whispers for only you to hear “you’re worth it.” His grasp of your womb doesn’t deter you from your creation’s foreshadowing as he sets you down on his desk to set a blank new notebook beside you. A notebook you know that will treat you as well as he will. The boy unwraps you, frees you from your solace and grips you lightly as he opens the notebook’s unscathed cover to the first page, beautifully lined and margined, all the things you need to fall in love. And you do. He pulls your cap off and snaps it to your tail because it fits perfectly, just as his fingers and thumb do to hold you steadfast and with ease and you can feel his inspiration build in you, fill you up till your heavy in his articulations that you’ll learn to adore. You sink to the paper, you drift lazily but with a purpose; your tip lands and ecstasy hits your length as ‘what next’ becomes ‘hold still a little longer’. He leads and you follow: your movements compose compositions of epitome’s epitome composing through your apex. You seem to sing seamlessly in streams of strings strongly slicing a song to strangle the sound from throats as reading becomes silence’s metronome and the heart the listener instead of the listened to. Through you pulses dreams, through you life isn’t about living as dying happens almost simultaneously. You write with him instead of for him, he treats you as though relationships aren’t created from two but rather as one from the very start. The flowing of ink and its drying quickly is your life and death. One word to the next is your heart’s rhythm as it beats for him. Beats against the blank notebook page as the backbone of his and your purpose combine to touch hearts beyond your own and his. To touch with a graceful caress to ensure any shattered pieces brought upon them by touches of the past are mended, repaired as the corpses upon the land that is this very writing signify to the eyes gliding across your life, that your boy will never stop, never give up picking up shards so that lips mimicking your rhythm are never cut.
Love,
The life and death,
PEN
My soul spills into bloody tears of joy,
just looking upon you,
your eyes so deep,
our love so true,
i wish i could hold your heart till the end of death and beyond,
in the dark eternity mist,
but forever is a long time,
even then my you shall have my will in your fist,
you say you will never leave,
yet i still worry,
that time will betray us,
and this love will turn to furry,
but i love every side of you,
even the madness,
so i will try to keep it away,
and drive away the sadness,
eternity is a long time away,
so i will hold you now,
and if forever comes,
you will be there to show me how,
we can overcome the "good"
together as one,
always apart of the wickedness,
until finality is done,
so as destiny unfurls,
and this passion burns,
you will be in me,
as the dimension turns,
it cannot be broken,
not even by the one(s) above,
it will never end,
our wicked burning love.
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