#pretty poem

[a-little-bit-of-pretty]

Ancient Oak

Ants on the march Dandelions in bloom Growing old in the dirt

[i-apologize-in-advance-sorryyyy]

My heart is owed to anyone but I—

My friends, my family, my strangers.

To call it mine would be thievery,

My heart thrives in the debt it’s caused.

I have given it without asking the cost,

And taken from a heart gone fevery.

My secrets, my stories, my prayers—

And wonder what they see in me.

𑣲⋆｡˚

[fluffyydumplings]

Time

Time,

It’s hastily sweeping away everything I’ve ever known,

I feel it,

The tide of the moon that makes memories rise and fall,

The way of the waves that plunge me deep and fixed in remembrance,

Time,

It’s quickly washing away all the things I’m slowly becoming familiar with

Time,

It doesn’t strike me,

It doesn't bombard me with questions,

It doesn’t inform me,

Whether of its arrival,

Whether of its departure..

And as the moments of my life diverges from the deepest pits of my mind,

I cry,

While time.. it sighs at me,

Time,

It’s like a plane that sometimes silently takes off on time,

It’s like a plane that sometimes is late with no notice or remarks,

It’s like a plane that hasn’t landed but is already here

Time,

It’s like a plant that grows against the source of light,

It’s like a semicolon that keeps on flying forward even though I’ve already cut off one of its wings

Time,

I used to fold paper aeroplanes and pray they would fly further than I ever could,

Then one day.. I grew,

I laid down and the distance my paper plane flew was a quarter of the size of my dainty limbs,

My desk once filled with half-done assessments replaced with the half-empty visions of dreams I am yet to fulfil,

But this glass is full,

And as it tips over,

Time is cold,

Although sand is gold,

Stories unfold,

Memories untold,

I tuck my chin in and fold myself up into a ball,

For I am a crumpled piece of paper in the grasp of a puppeteer called time

Time,

It surrounds me,

Reaching the tip of my pelvis which would have been where my shoulders peaked at years ago,

I’m an electrode surrounded by molten liquid,

I’m a human in a field of tall grass ready to swallow me alive,

Time,

The last drop never comes,

The glass tips over again,

And the first drop begins again

Time,

So much of it has passed

Time

I’m now only semi-scared of you,

For what can I do,

Can’t stop a running man from running,

Can’t stop a colon that can no longer fly, from walking

Time,

Even if I strip you off of your wings,

Leave you with no limbs,

You’d still crawl your way to me somehow

Time,

You’re cruel,

But I’m no fool,

It’s already pass noon again,

It’ll be nighttime soon,

I guess,

I’ll just have to walk while you crawl

Time,

I shouldn’t be scared of you,

Nor will I be scared of you

[raindropsindreams]

I call out to the sea

I tell my secrets to the sea

And the waves, rolling,

And rolling onshore

Whisper them back to me

I hold my broken heart close,

Afraid to let it go free

I don’t understand the ways of the sea -

How it will cherish it, then give it brand-new to me.

So I cry out loud in rage,

A storm is erupting inside;

But the ocean teaches me patience:

Life is like the rise and fall of the tide.

The sea sends the breeze

To dry the wetness on my cheeks

And enveloping me in the sweet cold of its foam,

Sings the lullabies of fallen Kings

By Joana S.

[yellowsugarwords]

"in her honeyed high-rise, with cherry kisses and the cheery sun, she knew. she laid her petals to rest, the city of glass, and prayed for a golden sunrise."

— daydreams

[mermaidcanyon]

Not only did I love her,

But I could tell the universe loved her, too.

More than others.

She was different.

After all, I would be a fool not to notice the way the sunshine played with her hair.

-Christopher Poindexter

[a-fool-who-dreams]

what a bittersweet queen, with twinkly lights for a soul a voice like tinsel but her eyes are cold icicle fingertips that long for the ground tears, light as air gently tumble down  alluring and sweet, she whispers to the earth, 'the snow fairies need quiet so silence the crackling hearth' as they crystallize the world hold your breath, catch a dream exhale out to the pinkening sky  the morning air turns it to steam her heart runs on this wistful fuel you can see it glow through her icy chest hopeful air pushed through hopeful lips wishes sent on the wind to the west

Ode to Winter

 an average poem by n.m.b.

[a-little-bit-of-pretty]

Bramble

There is a bush of brambles

with berries black and fair.

It grows along the sidewalk,

it thrives in disrepair.

Its thorns are sharp and prickly,

its leaves are dead and gone.

Its berries bursting in the heat

beckon, beckon, beckon me

until my wary feet

cross the crumbling sidewalk

to taste those berries sweet