I Miss YouIt's horrible to say thatMy only way of expressing myselfIs toSing or to writeSongs which seem to have no meaning forYouOr me because history reads there is noUs
Through Your EyesIt was through your eyes that I was able to see,The dark, the light, the grey in-between.Although you only see in black and white,I know that your heart and mind are set right.You wish to run, to explore the world,But without us to return to, in a ball you are curled.Without your ever joyful presence I fear,That I will be losing something very dear:A soul that knows no evil,A mind ever eager,A tail which is never motionless,A friend, who is always there.When I speak my fears aloud,By you, my mind unclouded.So never run away,Don't leave me here astray.
Spring has sprungScent of flowers everywhereOne cannot help but stareFor the beauty surrounds us soAs another season comes and goesTightly coiled for so longBut here we areSpring has sprung
PoetreeNOTE: The poem should have the shape of a tree. If it looks messy, your monitor is too narrow. Press "Ctrl" and "-" until it fits into your monitor, or follow the link in the author's comments. Thank you! In darkness sweet I dream I sleep; my fate to wait till time is ripe A tender leaf curled in the seed, an idea that would be freed I dream of bra
October EyesSuch gentle colors drip across your freckled shoulder blades.A quilt of puddled watercolors soaked in auburn shades.Spun of golden rivulets and rinsed in autumn skies,So many endless currents swimming through your lonesome eyes.Brushing under fingertips and over shattered songs,Unraveling like morning glaze against my paling palms.With beauty like October hills and hollow as the skies,The water drops against the earth will be our lullaby.
Mother EarthShe has suns for eyes,and oceans for tears,a blade of grass for each hair,and wisdom beyond her years.Rage like an earthquake,sorrow as deep as the sea,madness funneled like a hurricane,joy blooming so vividly, kings fall to their knee.Her skin is a motley,with hues so dark and bright,she sleeps during the day,and lays awake at night.She has the universe for a heart,and the cosmos burn in her soul,however, humanity's blindness,is at last taking its toll.
The Maxberg ArchaeopteryxI waited in a tiny house without a light or door,That each progressing day was slightly smaller than before,Until I felt the sudden urge to break and struggle free.I came into the world in only natal feathers dressed,Among my likewise siblings in an interwoven nest,Atop a shrub amid a land surrounded by the sea.Each day my father came to us with smaller lives to eat,As slowly I grew larger and my feathers more complete.Along my longest finger formed a broad and glossy wing.With wings to press me forward I could climb an upright wall,And now the nest where I had dwelt was also strangely small,And I could not ignore the larger island's beckoning.My wings had grown sufficient to support my weight in air,And prey could now be chased and won without my father's care.Observing my lagoon-encircled kingdom from above,Another hunger came to me beyond the quest for food,To recreate on my behalf my natal nest and brood,And prove to a companion my deserving of her love.For every
Dead Trees in Decemberdead trees in decembersprawl their fingers towards the skyleave her light a muted emberand hide her breath from the eyelying half buried beneath the glowthe crimson blood that did spillupon the earth six feet belowdying slowly with the chilland crystalline tears float elegantly downfrom pupil-less eyes framed by her face forever paleand they brush the ground without a soundand with their peers complete the veilthat rests innocently atop death's browjust below the silent boughsof dead trees in december
Ode To A RaindropThe first cool drop of waterReleased from the skyward mistOn an autumn afternoonTraverses my sweaty browA welcome kiss of beautyThat small elegant raindropWith fervent haste foreshadowsA wild tempest soon to comeQuenching the earth of its thirstAfter long summer monthsThe drop rivulets acrossThe surface of my foreheadAnd I gaze into the heavensEach subsequent water dropIs another baptism
Orb of NightThey say the stars will guide you home,so there, I stare, when I’m aloneRoaming through the vacant air,my pale skin chilled, for I am bareI hope my glow can pierce the night,my pitted skin, emitting lightMy dark shadows, they do roam-Maybe they will guide me homeAnd as the birds fly through the sky,I solemnly must say goodbyeThey flap their wings, and fly due south-Will they lead me to my house?And then the sun peeks through the hill,and I, myself, feel rather illI give to her, a kiss goodnight,and go to sleep, as she sheds lightI’ll come again, and see her soon,Signed with sincerity, The moon.
WolvesThe Howl The NightDid Not OpposeBy Justin BorerIn the forest on this cold, misty, moonlit night.Nature is calm and quiet with not a soul in sight.The silence continues, nothing trying to fight.Then moonlight shines through the trees.The light continues to flow like a calm breeze.Casting shadows upon the lonly leaves.A branch snaps breaking the somber silence.Something in the darkness moves showing its defiance.The forest shifts reluctantly to this act of violence.Through the shadow the moon helps soothe.This figure has nothing to prove.Steathy and strong it continued to move.The figure emerged from the darkness to cast its own shadow.Through its grey and black fur the wind does blow.With its pointed ears every creature it does know.The creature sat on the ground and looked at the starry sky.He felt alone, that, no one could deny.through its bluish-gray eyes it wondered why.He looked up at the bright full moon.He let out a howl and held its desperate tune.Hoping s
Rain gardenThe petals are all painted redthe color of sweet passion.Flowing silver rivuletsdown paper leaves turned ashen.The flowers rare and seldom pickedbloom once each lunar phase,its waxing light among them mix,giving them their ghostly haze.Gentle showers, piercing flightwith sudden claps of thunder,till, once again, returns the nightto hide away its plunder.She never felt its blackened soil.A deluge lasts the whole day long.Unaware, the gardener toilsfor whom these branches once belonged.Reaching, and embracing herwith spangled rain adorned,brings the scent of ink that stirsa love she's always worn.
Four Times A YearSeasons changeFour times a yearSome bringing joyOthers tearsBut whilst the wind may turn to rainThe colours of Autumn are here once again