Author: Unknown
S.mile at what you've done to me
O.vercome by sanity
L.ament at your joy
I.t is for a foy
T.read assure my pristine
A.lbeit you tread on my dream
I.mprevious to all desire
R.each out 'till you grasp the hollow
E.mbracing your fuelless fire
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Mar 2012
About this poem:
IT WAS A 3 PART INSPIRATION - I WROTE IT SHORTLY AFTER READING "He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven" by W.B. Yeats - HENCE THE REFERENCE WHICH REMINDED ME OF MY X-GF, (WHICH I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER FOR ALL OF HER QUALITIES); AND MY LITTLE INGENUOUS SELF FOR AS THE PART 3 OF INSPIRATION (NOT TO SAY MY-ULTIMATELY-NAIVE-SELF) FORTUNATELY EVERYTHING WEN'T REALLY REALLY BAD FOR HER, AFTER A WHILE, WHICH COMFORTED ME (BUT JUST A TINY LITTLE BIT)
THIS IS MY WAY TO TELL HER, WHEREVER SHE MIGHT BE NOW,THAT SHE'S A SILLY LITTLE BEE
IN HATING MEMORY TO YOU - GOOD RIDDANCE LOVE!-)
HOPE U'LL ENJOY
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Author: Unknown
D.own and deep in
A.t the bottom of a dissociative soul
R.ests the one I love and rests the one I hate the most
K.eeping me away from evil, hiding me away from me
P.rying from a good, safe distance
A.lmost like I'm there to be
S.ilent whisper that inhabits
S.elling peace for bloody bills
E.very time I’m week and tired, he’s got strength for us to be
N.ever stray or break, nor startle, only if I pay the fee
G.ranting him my self esteem to feed on
E.mty, sweet tranquillity, in a solitaire and hollow silence
R.ight until again he hisses ‘come on back and comfort me’
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2009
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Author: Unknown
M.EET WHAT YOU HAVE MADE
E.NOUGH TO LET GO?
T.IME WHISPERED YOUR TRUE NAME
U.NHEARED BY ANYONE.
S.TONES ONCE LAID WITH YOUR FIRE
S.TILL SLOW, WON’T WARM AGAIN.
I.NCENSIVE TRACE PASSED ON TO YOU
N.EVER MORE, FOR NON AGAIN, WILL FUME A FAMILLIAR TRAIL.
G.ONE ALL THIS WAY LOOKING AWAY, AND BACK FROM WHERE YOU’RE GOING
U.BIQUITOUSLY NOW – DESIDERATE!
L.EFT VOID WHEN PAID BACK, WHAT YOU’VE BORROWED
I.N AN EMPTY HEAVEN MADE ONLY FOR THOSE WHO LEAVE THE LIFE FOR TOMORROW
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jun 2010
About this poem:
though of what i'm afraid of the most. the only thing that makes me terrified is, that I won't leave anything behind me, and I will be forgoten. That I often run so fast, one time I will not stop. That every minute I lived will have no meaning at all. That when I die, I will not have done anything worth holdin on to, and the heaven I build for myself will be void with nothing to remember, and nothing to look forward to, and it will be only me and everlasting run, just as I'm running through my life now, without a point.
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Author: Unknown
Think to know what’s known
Not knowing what you think of
To know what’s not known
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2010
About this poem:
We only know what's given to us, but the true knowledge lies within knowing how much more there is to learn :)
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Author: Unknown
I'm not in the habit of drinking when sober
But even old habits can be sometimes be broken
I don't stain my thought with filthiness,
I'm usually not sleepless when I am asleep
I don't wright about difficult early mornings, because
I have got it all sorted out, and
It's not but an idyll,
Before I'm up on my feet
But every plan can be altered
I'd rather have lived without planning
If only I manage to dust-off the apartment, then
I'll take the walls of libanon
In calm clatter of little bottles
I'll find my fulfilled, my fulfilled hopes and I shall
Roast myself like a little spud and
I will never, and ever sober up again
And every plan can be altered, but
I'd rather have lived without planning
If only I manage to dust-off the apartment, then
I'll take the walls of libanon
I'll take the walls of libanon
I'll take the walls of libanon
As a crude chip in oil I'll coagulate, and
Smoke myself with a spliff till I drop nearly dead, and
With my own soul,my dear'o friend
I will never ever make for anyone a nice'o present
As a crude chip in oil I'll coagulate, and
Smoke myself with a spliff till I drop nearly dead, and
With my own soul,my dear'o friend
I will never ever make for anyone a nice'o present
As a crude chip in oil I'll coagulate, and
Smoke myself with a spliff till I drop nearly dead, and
With my own soul,my dear'o friend
I will never ever make for anyone a nice'o present
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2009
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polo440 Poetry (5)