Sometimes when the words won’t come
I sit quietly in the dark
The reasons why they won’t I know by heart
But I refuse to spend forever in the dark
The darkness becomes a part of me
And I a part of it
I’ve learned that words will always come
When the darkness becomes light
Morning comes with the rising sun
Words flow from my pen
The night was long, but now it’s morning
And The Tennessee Poet writes again
~The Tennessee Poet~
©Walt Page 2018 All Rights Reserved
Wild grows the meadow
in this end of summer,
parched and thick with crickets,
cracks yawn,
calling autumn rains.
When the droplet of rain
fell, touching her face
imitating her tears making a way
through her eyes,
it hid the pain,
and all her fears.
It canceled out the melancholy sung
by her heart,of missing him
by its sound of hitting ground.
It concealed her feeling blue
for him not being around
with the sight of flowers blooming
It camouflaged what she wanted no one to see
it masked her, who really was she !
-THEMOONLIGHTREVERIE
tiptoe through my mind ~ leaving traces here and there ~ filled with gentleness — © Lize Bard @ Haiku out of Africa
Vintage girl
found within sepia stained pages.
Bound to a life
she was never meant to live.
Dutiful exploits
catalogued inside,
pages
curled over time,
color
seeping from the edges.
she pushes at boundaries.
Her mind,
her soul,
ready to be more than one shade
of alive.
:
Copyright ©SirenSong1208
All rights reserved.
Photograph taken by SirenSong1208
“Oh, but darling, my dreams are only
ghosts without you in them.”
I built my life on hopes and dreams. I found you and you made me believe anything was possible. You made me believe they would come true. You made me believe in happy ever afters.
And I know. I know how complicated and difficult life can be. But this world is cold without you. I can feel it beneath the surface. I can feel it without your touch.
So please, don’t leave me buried in broken dreams. These dreams are only ghosts without you in them.
© Sarah Doughty
Please tell me you’ll stay.
She woke up terrified, the horrendous dream making her shiver head to toe. And now that she knew it was a stupor she was unsure which one was more brutal, the reality or the dream
Copyright © Shantanu Baruah
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Shantanu Baruah and ckonfab.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
The Reluctant Poet 