poetry

My favorite words in the world are t

Poetry is more than a form of art. It's a vibration and a pulsing heart. Whether it's sour or whether it's sweet. It can give you strength no one can defeat

Life is like facing two mirrors at each other: There is no beginning, no end. Just the beauty within the reflected infinity

It is not death that allows us to understand each other, but poetry.

I don__ believe we should carry backupplans in life__ suitcase__hey__e too easy to unpack like living a life in yoga pants, so comfortable our hips spreadinto new timezones...

each morning we__e born againof yesterday nothing remainswhat__ left began today

After I was caught returning at dawn from one such late-night escapade, my worried mother thoroughly interrogated me regarding every drug teenagers take, never suspecting that the most intoxicating thing I__ experienced, by far, was the volume of romantic poetry she__ handed me the previous week. Books became my closest confidants, finely ground lenses providing new views of the world.

Sonnet: Political GreatnessNor happiness, nor majesty, nor fame,Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill in arms or arts,Shepherd those herds whom tyranny makes tame;Verse echoes not one beating of their hearts,History is but the shadow of their shame,Art veils her glass, or from the pageant startsAs to oblivion their blind millions fleet,Staining that Heaven with obscene imageryOf their own likeness. What are numbers knitBy force or custom? Man who man would be,Must rule the empire of himself; in itMust be supreme, establishing his throneOn vanquished will, quelling the anarchyOf hopes and fears, being himself alone.

The parts of me that hurt the worst want me to write something for them, but I can't. I don't know what to say. I'm lost in all this sadness, and so are they.

...in my dream the shadings of your soul are the dark tincture of rain...

I'm pretty lost in becoming all this frost. Bitter, like Winter. Strung-out like a string of pearls.

Sadness is the ambrosia of all art.

there__ nothing todiscussthere__ nothing torememberthere__ nothing toforgetit__ sadand it__ notsadseems themost sensiblethinga person can doissitwith drink inhandas the wallswavetheir goodbyesmilesone comes throughit allwith a certain amount ofefficiency andbraverythenleavessome acceptthe possibility ofGodto help themgetthroughotherstake itstaight onand to theseI drink tonight.

Birds shouldn't be able to find tearsThey are the definition of freedom

I have emotions__hat are like newspapers that__ead themselves.I go for days at a time__rapped in the want ads.I feel as if I am an ad__or the sale of a haunted house:18 rooms_$37,000__'m yours__hosts and all.

One day when I ventured into the garden to regard its bloom,My eyes beheld on a bower a withered rose.When I inquired what had caused the blight,"My lips for a moment opened in a smile in this garden," it replied.

My Serinity,Thee, my serenity, one can not bear, Seeing thee befuddled, bereaved,Dimmed like the midnight, secluded, darkened,Thee, my serenity,A window to my eyes, A window to laughter, and peace of mind,Thee, my serenity, one can not bear,Seeing thee wail, whine, cry,Like a gloomy, mourning brume,Thee, my serenity,Soared through fervor and delight,To the crown of heavens, the Almighty Myth,One can not bear, Seeing thee prostrate, razed, demure,Upon the dimmed streets, crawling, for a sight of the lune,Thee, my birdy in love, What befall to thy song, The very chant of my life, Cut short, stopped, along with all I gasp,Thee, my serenity, one can not bear,Seeing thee, caged in thy own night, Encumbered, through thy own heart,Lean on my shoulders now,My beautiful, wonderful Lily,That thee shall not fear, the sorrow of,Of being lonely, apart, not having a peer,As I promise, to my most dear,The girl to my heart, always near,Come what may, don__ age a year,That I will be, forever here,

In past wars only homes burnt, but this timeDon't be surprised if even loneliness ignites.In past wars only bodys burnt, but this timeDon't be surprised if even shadows ignite.