I'm watching,
I'm waiting.
I'm hoping,
I'm praying.
I'm saying all the same things,
over again,
and over again.
25.6.10
22.6.10
M.
"But it all boils down to one quotable phrase
If you love something, give it away"
"So you walk that way, I'll walk this way"
If you love something, give it away"
"So you walk that way, I'll walk this way"
17.6.10
Yourself or someone like you.
You realize someone is important to you
when their face refuses to leave your head
as you stare across a crystal blue lake in the early evening
the sun flirting with the horizon line
as the water begins to still for the night
amongst all the beauty you feel a slight dewy chill-
each time you stop to breath
you wish they were standing beside you
"Shit Happens, Maybe for the best.
It is what it is, baby girl"
when their face refuses to leave your head
as you stare across a crystal blue lake in the early evening
the sun flirting with the horizon line
as the water begins to still for the night
amongst all the beauty you feel a slight dewy chill-
each time you stop to breath
you wish they were standing beside you
"Shit Happens, Maybe for the best.
It is what it is, baby girl"
8.6.10
Declaration of a Poet.
"Pens leak the inks of a soul onto the lines of an ear.
A poetic whisper to secretively conspire about the world we hold dear.
Dots and lines blot the blank and empty white,
A symbolic dance between reality and excitement, so to write.
An Author’s silent, benevolent charm
Inspires a reader’s security alarm.
Ready, Set, Ink.
Lost in the scriptures of truth,
They’ve found a new path to their youth.
Writing relieves my stress.
My inked pages must seem a mess.
Contort the words of figurative love,
But hold nothing to writing above."
A poetic whisper to secretively conspire about the world we hold dear.
Dots and lines blot the blank and empty white,
A symbolic dance between reality and excitement, so to write.
An Author’s silent, benevolent charm
Inspires a reader’s security alarm.
Ready, Set, Ink.
Lost in the scriptures of truth,
They’ve found a new path to their youth.
Writing relieves my stress.
My inked pages must seem a mess.
Contort the words of figurative love,
But hold nothing to writing above."
Dear June
(I had a dream last night.
it was a place you told me about.
and it was beautiful like you said)
-Her silhouette outlined in front of the sun like a painting.
She was waiting on the edge of an old wooden dock,
hanging her feet over the water.
Her curly brown hair lost in the breeze,
the warmth of summer sun shinning off her face.
The smell of the ocean never brought her such peace.
She was waiting on a sailboat carrying her father and uncle.
They had be gone since the sun rose that morning. She didn't mind them being gone.
-It had given her the time to explore.
Spider webs and dust covered the giant wooden door of the lighthouse. She climbed the old rusty staircase which seemed to never end.
The light at the end felt unreachable, but she continued until she reached the top. The Violence of the water seemed beautiful to her. She could hear the waves crashing into the rocks at bottom of the tower.
-She enjoyed being away from home during the summer time.
The softness of the warm sand touching her bare feet.
You could see her love for the Ocean; in the way she walked the beach for countless hours.
Looking for seashells and searching the caves for unclaimed treasures.
She gave herself to recapture the noise of the seagulls,
the smell of the sand in the water for me.
-Calmly I walk along the beach for the first time with her.
She showed me all the things that made her smile.
She promised; "this side of the beach will only end when we cant walk anymore."
here we'll write our names in the sand.
here she'll never let go of my hand.
here I'll fall harder than I still do,
but here I won't worry, she knows her way around the Atlantic.
(but goodnight said my dreams
and all to soon she was gone, again)
it was a place you told me about.
and it was beautiful like you said)
-Her silhouette outlined in front of the sun like a painting.
She was waiting on the edge of an old wooden dock,
hanging her feet over the water.
Her curly brown hair lost in the breeze,
the warmth of summer sun shinning off her face.
The smell of the ocean never brought her such peace.
She was waiting on a sailboat carrying her father and uncle.
They had be gone since the sun rose that morning. She didn't mind them being gone.
-It had given her the time to explore.
Spider webs and dust covered the giant wooden door of the lighthouse. She climbed the old rusty staircase which seemed to never end.
The light at the end felt unreachable, but she continued until she reached the top. The Violence of the water seemed beautiful to her. She could hear the waves crashing into the rocks at bottom of the tower.
-She enjoyed being away from home during the summer time.
The softness of the warm sand touching her bare feet.
You could see her love for the Ocean; in the way she walked the beach for countless hours.
Looking for seashells and searching the caves for unclaimed treasures.
She gave herself to recapture the noise of the seagulls,
the smell of the sand in the water for me.
-Calmly I walk along the beach for the first time with her.
She showed me all the things that made her smile.
She promised; "this side of the beach will only end when we cant walk anymore."
here we'll write our names in the sand.
here she'll never let go of my hand.
here I'll fall harder than I still do,
but here I won't worry, she knows her way around the Atlantic.
(but goodnight said my dreams
and all to soon she was gone, again)
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