Words...

No one listens to my words
I'm speaking endlessly
Yet no one is there.

Can you see them?
the words i have left behind
more than ink on a page
Or are they forever
lost in time.

Cry for me
please.
I have no tears left
just distant memories
and words that will never be read.

Please.
Stop the ink from making me drown
in my own sorrows.
Because if no one listens
how can i exist till tomorrow?

Shade of the Butterflies

(Based on the prompt: When I was six, fine arts meant...)
butterflies delicately painted wings
spreading dust of color everywhere
as the wind eagerly licks
the colors into a painting of today

once the butterflies have shared their hues,
they fall to gray ashes on the earth
swept up inside a huge cloud
painting chaotic streaks of gray
tangled with splashes of yellow
for the perfect splash of intense hue
as it violently strikes the earth
bursting the life
into a fiery orange and red

blue raindrops tint, slow the fire to nothingness
leaving the once green earth
an oozing black wound
dim and dull yet not quite colorless
for the black of the ask is not a color of pain
it's the color of new beginning

fragments of colorful dust slowly fall
vivid, colorful, expressive
the black earth looks up
to see hundreds of butterflies flying overhead
gaily sprinkling a spectrum of colors
from their painted wings

ANYONE?! EVERYONE?! LISTEN IN!

Does anyone have any particular requests for me to write on a topic or subject? I'd love to recieve one. Just comment below (:

Choices Of Time

Forgive. Forget.
Live. Regret
Life is so full of
choices,
laughter,
smiles,
loving who you are.
Every second
tick of a clock
pass by
slowly 
each sand grain
lapping up time.

Spitting out
words that tear
and tatter
violently painting images,
creating,
writing,
Write.Write.Write

Time slows
I do not.
write forever
Words,
Emotions,
Life.
Forgive. Forget.
Live. Regret.
Life is so full of
choices

Random Word Poem- (architecture, crash, speak, father, page, gate, heaven, appetite, key, tame)

silence. so dangerous
dangerous as him
i try to speak
my lips are dry
as i wait
and his fist collides with my face

CRASH!

and then
nothing.
i awaken by a gate
delicately crafted
from the finest marble
its architecture
dripping with inspiration and powerful
and i think of him
back when his anger was tame
we both had an appetite for books
pages and pages
we'd devour books by the dozens
and he'd read me to sleep every night.
i gave him the key
to my heart,
but jealousy and rage
grew us apart
no longer a fairytale
that i had once read about.
*smile sadly*
these thoughts are to sad
slick with the painful memories
that this beautiful gate
need not listen.
its pearly surface give me hope
its stone supported me
we are friends
the gate and me.
lost in thought
i sit by the gate for hours
until a man came
once i had not seen before.
his white beard matched the marble stone
and i felt safe, trust
things i thought i forgot to feel.
with a simple gesture
a flick of his hand
the gates opens
and he says
"Daughter, welcome to heaven"
i look at him,
i had forgotten kindness
only remembering pain,
yet as i stepped into the arms of my gate
i turned around to thank him
and he smiled at me
the father i never had.
it was silent as i smiled
yet this was pure bliss
silence. so peaceful.
i had found my true home.

Inspirational Violence

Violence is an inspiration.

Flashes of red-

Vivid.

Inspiration to hues of stop signs

that can change

the path of lives-

Make it better.

Violence delicately dances

on a scale

that tilts and quakes.

Inspiration for

moderation

a lesson

needed in life.

Surge of power

That rumbles down a mountain

of pain

Lashing out at everything

as it oozes down

burning everything in its path.

Inspiration for new life

to grown and learn

from the new

rich black soil

once kills, now nurtures

the life around it.

Words scribbled

quickly on scraps of paper

as it eats through each pencil

and snaps it

into two

along with your hopes, dreams

yet you look back

re-read it again.

Discover

you’ve created a masterpiece

beginning with the simple words:

Violence is an inspiration.

Hands....

Part of the imagery and figurative language packet for CW and this was an inspiration by one of my peers hands:

Gripping tightly to her pen hands guide her- willing her to write and create millions of never ending lyrics. Hands that are covered in lines that slash through her tough tanned skin each holding an untold story. Her hands flash across the page in a whirlwind of ideas that yearn and need to be written and shared with the world. Her hands mark the world, and everything she grasps holds hope and promise of a song within.Calming their frenzy, her hands slowly halt and she lets the ink seep onto the page. Her eyes twinkle and a smile lights her face and with her hands she passes her word filled paper to give her joy to another.

Lonely Playground

Peace is an abandoned playground swing
swinging gently in the night breeze
as each gust of wind tries to envelope it,
break it off it's rusty hinges,
and carry it away.
Yet every time is buffers and bats
creaking restless melodies
that no ear can quite understand.
Once that swing was wanted
yearned and desired
now it's stuck
forever swaying in the breeze.

fear is a toy gun: fake but realistic

fear is a gun
lurking at the bottom of each endless closet
each dust covered corner,
hidden in the shadows,
drenched and dripping of untold horrors.
and oncve you notic it your body becomes stiff
trying to withdraw away
a battle between your shadows and your heart

fear is a toy gun
unsure whether it is real
dangerous each bullet filled with unimaginable choas
or whether it is a mear replica
safe and harmless-
no matter the difference it will haunt you
awaken your senses t oevery scream of pain you may hear
awaken your thoughts to horrors that cannot truly exist
awaken you from every dream of happiness
suddenly roacked with the realization that
gun is fear, fear is gun

Last night, she sat down in front of the green notebook and...

Last night, she sat down in front of the green notebook and
let her mind open and wander to lands never traveled
as she marked crisp pages of delicate paper
covering them in thousands of words
scribbled with ebony ink
cascading from a pen
with word from every corner of her heart
and every inch of shadow in between.
Formulating thoughts, provoking questions
Never been heard before
and her beautiful desire for answers

Tough, Rough River of Life

I wrote this after seeing the damage Hurricane/Tropic storm Irene and the flooding caused it deeply affected me so I decided to write this poem:

stand and cry
one single tear for
every life,
every loss,
every dream taken away


in a breath taking moment of sudden power
everything was lost in under an hour
floating away,
away,
away


then gone, left all alone
a world far way from the one  I was in
one where pain didn't exist,
emotions not so tough
and no river would ever get this rough
stand and cry