What am I without poetry, Without words, blossoming on the page? I would be but a shell of myself And you would find me
I’ll tell you to hold on tight, and we can be alone together in this nothingness. I’ll tell you to tell me a story, and we can laugh and cry together
Notes rolling off of my fingers The right hand sings a soft melody… The richer undertones of the left… Flowing and melting in swirling ma… The quiet inner voice on the right…
star-drunk child, foolish in your fear— announce your cries to the night, feel the heat of life
i am unsure where you are in this night. it is cold it is dark
He drapes his hand over the mounta… Brushes his fingertips over the fi… His breath dusts the windowpanes w… He cries for Spring, his tears fa… Soft mounds of snow form below him…
The clouds in the distance Sit, patient Oblivious to my need For rain They promise the rain
As you walk away, Without looking back, I stand here, heart in my hands. I wish you had stayed Or that I’d done something differ…
Muddled footsteps In the dirt, Wind in our ears, The sun Shrinks down beneath
Wet paper arrows quivering against the bright string of the bow. The arrows
It is the emptiness, the nothingness, the in-between. Is it broken? Is it maimed?
I fear That now There is no real me. I wear a mask of personality And pretend I’m happy.
All I have to say Is I am incomplete A story left unwritten A page left unturned But that does not matter
Something warm has curled up inside my chest. It is filled with hate, with sadness, with things I cannot express.
Words are just words They say But if they’re “just words,” Why do they hurt so much more When they tell the truth?
