These are some of the smaller bits of poetry I've made in the past.
A voice of the dead calls, once frozen ice falls, breaking past these walls, deep inside of me.
A life-taking wave mauls, the broken sky itself squalls, echoing in empty halls, far across the sea.
Two storm clouds meet, a terrifyingly loud feat, this tragety won't be beat, ripping me apart.
Calm and resolved, take a seat, the waves calm, soft and neat, sunbeams come, bringing heat, to heal a fractured heart.
Once the wind blew, whistling through the trees.
Once the wind grew, expanding from a breeze.
Once the wind sung, and the forest then repeated.
Once the wind rung, and it was sorely needed.
Once the wind stayed, heeding my desperate call.
Once the wind payed, trapped here for us all.
On your dreams to the ocean,
When would your dreams sink?
Flying through the midnight sky,
Vacant of wishes and dreams,
If I were to have been a bird, free and high and wild, would I have a screaming cry, or a song so mild?
If I were to have been a wolf, running fast and far, would I have had fur silver and long, or fur as black as tar?
If I were to have been a man, crying loud since birth, would I possess a gun for war, or try for peace on earth?
I was simply born as me, shy and plain and quiet, but I can write my days away, and have a peaceful riot.
Once upon a day since past,
A darkness that will never last,
Showing all that's wrong.
Showing all that's wrong,
And yet it's here to stay.
And yet it's here to stay,
Once upon a day since past,
A darkness that will never last.
Far away, long ago, where the poppies used to grow, there's a stream the flows in red, twisting, winding, down the bed.
I used to go there, but no more, for, you see, I'm too poor, too old, too weak, growing small, soon I won't be here at all.
So, dear child, please, for me, would you please go down and see, the river, winding scarlet still, I will rest, I surely will.
If I weren't stuck in a jar,
If I saw the world from far,
If the sea was dark as tar,
I am stuck here in this urn,
I don't twinkle, but I yearn,
I can only sit and learn,
Never trust Crimeapple please,
Sisterhood, it shines like gold, it sparkles in the sun
You could survive without the glint, but then it's much less fun.
Jotting down a little note can help a future you.
When your life has cloudy days, your past will help you through.
Art is made by loving hands, persistant through all strife.
Gaze around your beauty within, and bring your dreams to life.
izzy806
prguitarman
turnnoffyourmind
dailybridgerton
theartofmadeline
titsay
