I walk past danger as safety Greet enemies as friends And feel as if I’ll be living forever When I nod to the tall gentleman with the Dark blue hat who waits everyday on The quiet benches of the park, for His next visitor to come knocking on his door It is then when I look in those eyes of Blue darkness, that I realise, life was not The whole journey, but merely a part, a fleeting bit
22. Journeys end in lovers' meeting Based on a quote by William Shakespeare
I’ve never thought of my own Philosophical self as a particular person who’d find love lines coated in truth and Strange unusual parts of wisdom But here I am staring at one Trying to figure out where it all Went sideways
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Ex’s may have left Grieving could have commenced And lifestyle’s maybe have been altered But no journey ends ‘till both lovers have met So goes the truth for plot twists and conflicts And truly, no story ends, until the very end is the beginning of something else
I can’t say I’ve stood with my two feet Long enough on this earth With my toes in the dirt To feel eternal as I live But can I ask, just for a moment To forget everything That’s happened in chapters Of past tales So I can stand and feel And live a life I’ve never lived before
I finally caught up with all of your poems and I have to say you have quite the style along with the talent. The one you've posted today is definitely on my top 5 favourite list. You are doing an awesome job Rose! One more week to go ^^
I think of time as the First sight in the morning, colour of gold Cream of sugar that melts through my cone Poetry minutes that fly away freely The kiss you blew, once there and disappeared Weekend that knocks on the front door and exists through the other Flaming red flower that did not seek its end Melting moments and hours of gold Such richness, that is just hard to hold
Some of my characters would confess that life Tastes like the dirt under the roots of the aloe plants The leftovers in the fridge behind decorated tea cups Housing the void of self-pity thrown towards a face Like contaminating the small details of molecules in the atmosphere To form buckets of rawness that feed ugly truths of life It’s bitter, but it’s breakfast
I live in a world of preferred vertical geometric positions, with two perfectly fitting angles of 90 degrees that stand up straight and alive. With the physiological explanation of a certain substance in the mind that leads to belief that it is an angle more superior than others.
But I cannot deny the biological logic and points of deductions of physics in my bones, that lead me to be of the opinion that one can be just as vertical as one wants to, as much as one is bound to be in the position of a perfectly calculated angle that resembles an 180 degrees horizontal in a decorated casket.
At night I’ll be thinking of bananas and Silly parts of movies too, I intend to be on my best behaviour eating ice cream on the moon Watching my neighbours slowly retreat into their little warm Pieces of legos and their lazy grey cats sleeping on the porch Beneath a blanket of stars, golden fries in my hand I shall sing a song to the moon, soothing the stars to sleep While I’ll be sitting there to recombobulate
Love is friendship that has caught fire. It is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing and forgiving. It is loyalty through good and bad times. It settles for less than perfection and makes allowances for human weaknesses. — Ann Landers
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