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Laying down in the grass… it felt nice. He watched the clouds sleepily pass overhead, occasionally picking out different shapes.
"I'm sorry I never got to come home," he whispered, trusting the wind to carry his apology to his surely worried wife.
As the exhaustion came over him, he closed his eyes and finally rested, leaving the noise of battle behind him.
Rose In Water Poetry Prompt.
I would like to share my new poem. I recently joined a poetry group on FB and they do poetry prompts based off an image. I saw this image & this is what I wrote. I'd appreciate you all giving it a read! Every view supports me as a writer as this site pays per views (1000 views). It isn’t a lot per 1000 but it is something. I appreciate any of you who read it. Thank you all so much<3 I have 1400 of you so if only a fraction read it I’d be over the moon :) Hey maybe for my Birthday Tomorrow I can wake up and see that I’ve reached 1000 views!
Btw it is just 1000 views not per poem just an accumulated view count across everything I have published.
You really need to come back because i can’t get anything done with my heart screaming at me like this
L.S.
I Share My Soul Through Art
I’ve been taking a break from writing public poetry I was exhausted from thinking about what was good What was bad, or what I actually believed to be true It seemed like all I ever really wrote about was love Love is one end of the spectrum, heart break the other I was fed up with doing that like I’m fed up with rhyming For a while I’ll just be writing my thoughts As they naturally flow I mainly only write when I’m out of my element When emotions become too much to bare So I push them off on others who relate In all honesty I only care about attention I want to be noticed for who I am Whether you love what I write or hate it I’m here, I’m always going to be here I’ll never stop writing because I love doing it It relaxes me, and gives me a sense of purpose I have a view point that matters My opinions count as much as anyone else’s And I don’t know why it’s so difficult It’s hard finding someone who sees things as I do I’m a goofy person, I like a variety of different things I love trying new things I have strong beliefs But I’m great at compromise and I’m not closed minded So I just don’t understand There’s a lot I don’t understand It’s a feeling I despise I don’t know why So I’ll just write out my emotions Scribble my problems into poetry I am art, you are art, everyone is art I might be misunderstood by some I’ll be too different But maybe someone will like what I write Someone will agree with my art They’ll share my opinions and thoughts I pray that things will get better That’s all I can hope for
“I’ll always be here for you” he whispered to her, holding her chalky hands in his, twice the size of hers “and if all you do today is cry and you start to drown in your sadness i’ll teach you to swim” and her knuckles turned white holding onto him and i knew he would never let her drown
L.S.
At first you were my visor. You protect me from the sun. You protected me and sheltered me from harm but as time went on I realised I couldn’t see as much as I used to. So one day I took the leap of faith and lifted my head and saw all the things you didn’t want me to see, the things I use to love. The Sun on my face, a strangers smile, raindrops trickling down my face on an autumn night and I realised you never sheltered me you’d kept me your prisoner, so I thought you were the only good thing in the world
L.S.
You lied to me. You lied to me and every time you speak I can feel it in the air suffocating me. Every time you kiss me, I can feel it making its way down my throat and swimming in my blood. I hate you for making this a part of me. I hate you for lying and I hate that you’ve destroyed me. Mostly though I hate myself for not leaving. For willingly sleeping in a bed filled with the lies you whisper in my ear. I hate myself for sweetly kissing you goodbye even though I know where you’re really going and I hate myself for turning into the type of woman I swore I would never be
L.S.
The poems write themselves my mind is simply their hatching place
L.S.
