Dreamwalker

**Alright so this is my first poem... ever... Okay well technically my first poem posted on here and the first poem I actually have some liking towards. My entry for ...

Back Down to EarthTo hope for heights,Love without fight this fight,Love without pain.I’m sure for lightOne forsakes the rainBut I would rather bear itFor him she would,Forget the world.For him ...

Sorry, SongbirdBy: The.DreamwalkerA ceaseless, sifting, songbird, On a cold September night,Could hardly bring that passion, Of a heart that’s still in flight.Her song may be of sadness,And her tune

I Can’t WriteBy: The.DreamwalkerTap. Tap. Tap. I’m trying.Tap. Tap. Tap. I’m failing.Tap. Tap. Tap. Can't do this. The clicking of the keyboard.Immeasurable silence.Click, click, click,And then

About the whole two middle stanzas rhymning... well, I thought it would be interesting structure. I'm starting to second guess that thought process. Well, rip apart please and by rip ...

A/N: Another attempt at poetry? I think so!~WeatheredShe says the world's a scary place--Of candid horrors; shockingly grotesque. A pretty theory though dilapidated, As if wholly rendered by not ones ...

Spoiler! : So I have been terribly inspired, lately, to write a poem for an upcoming occasion which has been making me terribly apprehensive. Not that I'm not excited, or ...

This is the farthest from what I believe to be even somewhat good. I needed to get it out though and poetry seemed the way to go at the time. ...

Spoiler! : I was listening to Chopin's Etude op.10 no.3, or in other words 'Tristesse', and was inspired by the sound and the story it told. This is the poem ...

Spoiler! : Poetry is starting to become the perfect outlet for everything. You’re Beautiful You had me with,two words, two words.Empty words, sullen words,simple, indulging, reckless words.You owned

Kiss the Sound of Losing Face Lips of rouge, a hellish crimson. Ebony lashes over senseless orbs.You smile, you wait, you are but an unattainable embellished slipof what could be, ...

with words she knows but does not understand I see imminent reality in the turning of pagesand the sweet suppleness of a forgotten voicewhose lips spill psalms and declarations in ...

Spoiler! : Due to the subject matter of the poem, I'm keeping my explanations short. Its kind of a love-poem, but not really. Rip it apart.Continuation;Russian Lullaby. to kiss a ...

a frozen window paneI’m the breath scratching the surfaceof a window, whose pane is frozen stiffand though each nail digs and pry’s,and though the voice speaks loud and clear,no dent ...

season's greetings she likes the sound of a piano in fall;familiar as the taste of rain. and though each song is printed for her,and though the notes speak petty words,she ...

she's a liar like meyou broke your heart again todayas you did yesterday, and the day before.contrite are you who lets lips swoonwords in which you never meant; sicklyand delightfully ...

and he wonders why things never change he sometimes reflects on mirrored effectsof petty things, and pretty things.of things he hopes and things he dreamsand a kiss or a tear ...

breaking the branches we’d swing fromwith little remorse, little remembrance, of the days we’d play, we’d laugh away our time -- so sublime were the moments etched in bark by ...

its as if things never changed.'the ink ran dry', she says when the whim has passed but the moment’s still fresh and achingly smooth -- a warm shawl of remembrance ...

she tastes like cherry coke and cigarettes, each breathe the beating of a candle’s flicker --and she sparks; a reddish hue, that burns and impassions with each sullen flame, or ...

The pages were stained with fingerprints, each marking the years of treasured usage and nights spent in a sea of blankets, listening to the pattering of rain on her window ...

He drank too deeply and choked on his words as if unsatisfied by the sound. Broken in placidity, complacent in mediocrity,with the voice of panicblaring in his eardrums. Imminent change ...

she sleeps in the space between starsdreaming of light as she rests and she waitsfor the dust of her skin to erupt into fireso that she may shine, a beacon, ...

The pine leaves tickled our noses that morning, as we reached our hands under the bristled limbs until finally crashing in a jumbled mess of arms and legs under the ...

and to think we should see each otheras two finite masks, printed over porcelain to be beautiful, ugly, as you wish itbut so easily shattered, broken as we are.you and ...

i used to wonder what your body looked likesprawled out under sheets of paper --notes in cursive writing, slanted script in inkwhen imagination grew sparse and cold and the empty ...

When the colour runs and fades to grey,into languid motions we seep away and these lashing tongues, we speak for what we cannot know,and we cannot know.With broken branches we ...

_______________________________________________________________________the trouble with us is we’ve been chasing raindrops, dear,dropping inhibitions like splatteredpaint on the cloth of your favori

crumbled, crumpled like the drying cracks of skin on the tip of your nose; flaking, the way your lips crack. shards of winter worn, bitterly worded sentences – the one ...

Tell me, spell me. The words you know but cannot possibly understand - British tongues taut against Canadian cheeks. You who taps the beds of your fingertips across parchment like ...

Tip me over and pour me out Tear the skin from your lip -- the fleshy sinews away from bone like sheets of paper, stained with everything you couldn’t ...

tell me when you close your eyes and the world starts spinning where it once stood still, back straight, chin up. Ideal. colours ran along the canvas of your empty ...

whisper whisper the sound that curls away from lips and singes songs with heated breath let go the way the words clung to morning air stark and rigid as they ...

shiny pennies mark your lips bronze the way the light reflects off the tip of your coppered nose a nickel for your thoughts, as we’d pick apart our words, tearing ...

my threads are fraying from years of use sipping too much coffee and writing too few words the way time clumps pebbles in my outstretched joints rocky motions as I ...

it’s as if the fluorescent greens and blues illustrate the space between our fingertips that pause before each message sent on whims; the ones we pieced together in so few ...

we’re sappy and thick like syrup dripping off your chin dribbling against the plaid variances of your favourite shirt, and I would follow each strand, thumb across flesh scooping then ...

I’m sleeping alone catching images of you in coffee cups and music to loud to fall into each note but you’re still here, tiptoeing along every unwanted ray, piercing daggers ...