Words That Fail Me

[relatablepoetryandquotes]

“I have survived. I am here. Confused, screwed up, but here.” - Laurie Halse Anderson, Speak

via @the-book-diaries

[wordsthatfailme]

Apart

Though the sun does set on this dying shore

A feeling rests, as if there is more

Beyond the horizon

Under the sea

Waiting for you

Waiting for me

And though it may take

Some time to reach

When at the peak the mountain

Speaks

It’s majesty great, so brilliant-

So pure

And to every great curse

There seems a cure

And so I lay my pen to rest

Not forever- but for the best

And wait will I with an open heart

For the chance to together

What is now, apart.

[wordsthatfailme]

Unread

The words

they tither

upon my lips

They swing

They dance

but yet they miss

Their intention 

of saying

those things

unsaid

Lost forever

forever

unread.

[wordsthatfailme]

21

"Bogle is a fun way to say bagel. Joy is hard to come by these days"

https://twitter.com/berniethoughts/status/804144838706950144

[ajbrodiepoetry]

Your chest falls. Rises. Falls. Constant. Up. Down. Up. Down. Working away throughout the silence of the night to keep you here with me. The slope of your throat is waiting, soft, for the butterfly caresses of a mouth. Lips. Mine. Not mine. It doesn’t matter. You tell me poems in the middle of the night with just the rhythm of your breath.

‘your breath’ by A.J. Brodie (originally posted 8th September 2014)

[jedan-krevet-za-mene]

[coral]

Write about what really interests you, whether it is real things or imaginary things, and nothing else.

C.S. Lewis (via feellng)

[coral]

And out of that hopeless attempt has come nearly all that we call human history—money, poverty, ambition, war, prostitution, classes, empires, slavery—the long terrible story of man trying to find something other than God which will make him happy.

C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (via feellng)

[phanjam]

I wonder how biology can explain the physical pain you feel in your chest when all you want to do is be with someone.

(via bl-ossomed)

[gosh]

Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens.

Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind (via teenager90s)

[gosh]

Open your eyes, train your ears, use your head. If a mind you have, then use it while you can.

Haruki Murakami, Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World (via teenager90s)

[gosh]

My soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddle strings and harps, drums and tambourines I sound and clash inside myself. All I hear is the symphony.

 Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (via teenager90s)

[larmoyante]

She said, ‘I’m so afraid.’ And I said, ‘why?,’ and she said, ‘Because I’m so profoundly happy. Happiness like this is frightening.’ I asked her why and she said, ‘They only let you be this happy if they’re preparing to take something from you.’

Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner   (via itcuddles)

[coral]

Child, to say the very thing you really mean, the whole of it, nothing more or less or other than what you really mean; that’s the whole art and joy of words.

 C.S. Lewis (via feellng)

[ovls]

[jpzg]

I think kissing is the most pure and raw form of physical contact there could ever be. Sex is intimate, sure, but you can have sex with anyone. A kiss though, my god. A kiss can change your world. A small touch between two pairs of lips can blow your mind. Whether it be short and sweet, or long and intense. And when you find someone that looks at you like you’re more beautiful than a blossoming rose; you never want to feel another’s lips against yours ever again.

The Purity of a Kiss (via beautiful-disaster-777)

[wordsthatfailme]

Poetry.

What is poetry? Is it art? What is art? Is it an experience? Or a piece on the wall you can step back Lift your glasses to And it's beauty admire? What is "beauty" but the collective Appreciation of the masses? When society changes the ideas of art And beauty Change But poetry- Words Will always remain.