silented1

I wish to feed.

their pitter patter a lovely song You're either missing an is between patter and a, or you might want to make their into they and add a verb. Or punctuate ...

I can make the rain seem skitzophrenic So, you're standing in the corner, staring out the glass doors at this town that holds change to every color. Dripping sunlight over ...

Fast pace, and bare. It's a good outline of thoughts and I like the process, the only problem is that it has no form. No imagery, but that would be ...

Well, after reading the first two questions; I think you might not have enough substance in this poem to make the questions more powerful and really ring out to us. ...

When you get the chace: Thanks.

I believe you should add to this a little. There isn't a lot of connection between your lines / ideas. You go from bridges falling to some stone door and ...

The fourth storm I make my way to the stairs, quickly climbing to "salvation", as a fury stormed my home, with flashing lights of red and blue. Greeting me at ...

The third storm The labeled lost are found in my orderly home, where I carry all problems through the front door that is mostly rusty hinges. I pasted a doctor's ...

The second storm I search my pockets for answers and my fingers find holes, where thought and possession made their outline on my heart. As they fall, lost to the ...

The first storm As I wait on the street corner, by an old cemetery, black gated and run down, frozen in silence. Except for the crunch of his boots, each ...

Said disease My cheeks were slit, and handcuffs locked inside (of my tongue), hooking my words to your wrists, where you just seem to swat them away. While your face ...

Nice, short poem. But you need to add to it. There's not a lot to relate to, plus the words like: come fly with me have little meaning because there's ...

The bell rings off of the metal legs of empty chairs, questions kept them warm offsetting the cold air with a fog. The dirty outlines of paper scar the seemingly ...

Hope was written in the lines of her eyes, scripted and sweet like nectar; it spoke from her lashes, extending to the lost and blinking in renewal. It sang from ...