They took one look at me,And hated my black face.They took one look at me,And decided on my fate.They took one look at me,And forced an unknown fear.They took one look at me,And caused the shed of tea...
Tickle my heart with your pen. Write me for all to read. Bind our love inside a book. Make me your poetry.
I don't want what love is. I want what love is supposed to be.
Once upon a time, is how stories begin...
Poetry without words, you are, the beat to my hearts rhythm.
even in death, his last breath was poetryexisting in the wind and on the breeze of"it used to be likes" forever remembering,yet never relivinghis lifewill never be what it used to be like.
Tonight, can we just pretend you want me to?
Paint me perfect poetry.
Tonight, can we just pretend that you want me too?
Tonight, can we just pretend you want me too?
If you say something as if it were, that isn't, is it considered a lie, or speaking it into existence?
I write amongst the stars, and the canvased paper moon. I paint the fields of green, sprinkling morning dew. I teach the birds to sing, a tweet, a tweet, times two. And when my busy day is done, I dre...
Bruised, beaten, shaken, weakened, tossed, thrown, lost, alone, heard, helped, healed, hope... it still works.
As a man thinketh so is he? The faith of a mustard seed? I planted these words in my thoughts, and still, mind wound up lost, between my dreams and reality.
Nothing, is what it appears to be, when it's only with your eyes you see.
I'd give you my heart, but you'd just give it back, so I'll give you my words instead.
Can still windmills, still produce wind? Can a heart still love, when a heart no longer is?