poetry

Moments caught in time. Simple memories spread out before me. Timeless reminders of how life goes on, even when it feels as if you cannot.

The storms inside uncoilinto sky held calm by far seeing eyesMemories dressed in the translucenttrickery of the mind,so as to wear life upon themselves,give up their tired dance and runinto free frequency

Poetry lit fire in the vast forest of memories within you.

Wide sea, that one continuous murmur breedsAlong the pebbled shore of memory!Many old rotten-timber'd boats there beUpon thy vaporous bosom, magnifiedTo goodly vessels; many a sail of pride,And golden keel'd, is left unlaunch'd and dry.

Poetry is a hook for memory

After all, my erstwhile dear,My no longer cherished,Need we say it was not love,Just because it perished?

Take us to the in-between,Where earth meets sky, and wake meets dream.And time rushes by, unseen.Take us to the infinite night,Where up is down, and left is right,And dark vanquishes light.

Sisters we gather,In answer to the call,To fulfill our destinyAs guardians this side of the wall.__here the fabric wears thin,And our enemy__ at hand,We must thrust him backInto his own land.__e honor our legacyAnd before the night is done,Sisters past, present and futureWill unite as one.

A poet is simply an artist whose medium is human emotions. _A poet chisels away at our own sensibilities, shaping our vision while molding our hearts. _A poet wraps words around our own feelings and presents them as fresh gifts to humanity.

Don't fall asleep yet. Contrary to popular belief, that's not where dreams get accomplished.

He hoped and feared,' continued Solon, in a low. mournful voice; 'but at times he was very miserable, because he did not think it possible that so much happiness was reserved for him as the love of this beautiful, innocent girl. At night, when he was in bed, and all the world was dreaming, he lay awake looking up at the old books against the walls, thinking how he could bring about the charming of her heart. One night, when he was thinking of this, he suddenly found himself in a beautiful country, where the light did not come from sun or moon or stars, but floated round and over and in everything like the atmosphere. On all sides he heard mysterious melodies sung by strangely musical voices. None of the features of the landscape was definite; yet when he looked on the vague harmonies of colour that melted one into another before his sight he was filled with a sense of inexplicable beauty. On every side of him fluttered radiant bodies, which darted to and fro through the illuminated space. They were not birds, yet they flew like birds; and as each one crossed the path of his vision he felt a strange delight flash through his brain, and straightaway an interior voice seemed to sing beneath the vaulted dome of his temples a verse containing some beautiful thought. Little fairies were all this time dancing and fluttering around him, perching on his head, on his shoulders, or balancing themselves on his fingertips. 'Where am I?' he asked. 'Ah, Solon?' he heard them whisper, in tones that sounded like the distant tinkling of silver bells, "this land is nameless; but those who tread its soil, and breathe its air, and gaze on its floating sparks of light, are poets forevermore.' Having said this, they vanished, and with them the beautiful indefinite land, and the flashing lights, and the illumined air; and the hunchback found himself again in bed, with the moonlight quivering on the floor, and the dusty books on their shelves, grim and mouldy as ever.'("The Wondersmith")

Think of the great poetry, the music and dance and ritual that spring forth from our aspiring to a life beyond death. Maybe these things are justification enough for our hopes and dreams, although I wouldn't say that to a dying man.

inspiration. five minutes in the back of a greyhound bus; the world passing by.a gateway to freedom.the american dream.from "the american dream

Im looking for a girl who's fun to be around.

Trust the vibes you get, energy doesn__ lie.

My VoiceDreamt a dream of dreams,lucidOne word birthed another,othersStill deeper beyond time,infinite spaceOne bled into another,one dancedTwisted tight, for dear life, embraced windsDarkness, out of sight burned, wept my mindInto a new frontier, frameless portraitsIn defiance, out of the ash, rose my voiceKaleb Kilton (c) 2016

I have clung To nothing, lov__ a nothing, nothing seen Or felt but a great dream!

every dream I have about kissing you ends with blood on my hands.