I build boxesand place them at your feet,to measure the distance between dreams and reality.
Bridge burned from end to end,and I don't miss you anymore.You delivered silenceI've birthed freedom.
I balance you on the end of my pen.Teetering between loveand letting go.
I've never seen beauty so devastatingas in the linesthat trace our hopeand fall from the stars.
Through windows,in wishing wells,whispering in the wind...that's where I find you.
Steep fall to the groundshatteringlike clay pigeons missed by bad shotsand unsteady hands.
I bleed to un-break you,un-mending me.I fall to save you...now who will save me.
Birthing hope from the madnessthat perches on the fenceof our once perfectdreams.
I need to work on me.The mewithout you.
In that wounded place,buried betweenmy ribs and letting go,I miss you.
Broken.As I search for hope,In the same eyesI lost it.
Written soul is called poetry
A hallowed frequency withinThat, even in your darkest hour,You can always turn to.
Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?
The day came when she discovered sex, sensuality, and literature; she said, 'I submit! Let my life be henceforth ruled by poetry. Let me reign as the queen of my dreams until I become nothing less tha...
The searing light of morningAsks unwelcome questions,Fragile hopes soon blistered by daylight.
And in the ocean I will fly to the bottomless pit of darkness
We will read books together inside the blanket and stay warm. And keep writing poetry in our respective journals. Time will fly but we will still remain inside the blanket forever.
Yes, it is true that beauty is only skin deep, and internal loveliness resonates to the outside; but deep down inside every woman secretly longs to possess the allure of a royal queen.
What do you do when the alienating silence deafens your 'bootless cries'?
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