Poetry
In shadows cast by life’s hand, I stood alone on desolate land. Lost, forsaken, my heart bereft, trapped a world where bonds I once had left. With weary steps, I tread that path, Where laughter once danced, I experianced silent wrath. Isolation’s cloak tightened its hold, As sorrow’
Poetry
I thought I had no love left in my heart to grieve for those who do not love me in return. I had committed to reserving my grief for those who did so. Yet, you proved me wrong in my understanding because you stopped loving me, but I chose to
Poetry
History gives a map of future’s way, Left by those who sailed our waters yesterday. Darkness hides deep below, naps in mystery, While warnings flowed stray, And now we question life beyond this day. Our anchored hope, though veiled, Claps at fear, And waves victory Where hearts now lay.
Poetry
As progress renders shadows obsolete, warnings of certain darkness go unheard. Shade cast on nothing; forget guardrails serve to learn. Forgotten shadows neglect battles fought first in mind. This allows the path to failure as unprepared is human kind.
Poetry
Death, can you hear my constant cry? My spirit, burdened, falling in battles; I can no longer fight or fly. I think now to a time of beauty, peace, and light, Though I remain unseen, all my problems cease their might. I pause my words and reflect on what that
Poetry
What we all shout is our desire to fly and see our potential grow higher, without being bound by chains with no key. We require the determination and power to live our life uniquely and free, preventing our hearts and souls from fading and wanting to retire under the weight
Poetry
In shadows cast by life’s cruel hand,I stand alone on desolate land, Lost, forsaken, my heart bereft, In a world where bonds I once had left. With weary steps, I tread this path, Where laughter once danced, now silent wrath, Isolation’s cloak tightens its hold, As sorrow’
Poetry
When the first post is placed we allow a division to begin With each baluster we allow our outlook to grow dim Soon our vision doesn’t even allow the possibility of a gate, this however was the reality in our mind all along. Subscribe
Poetry
Cynicism is opium to blunt pain. I’m a user and I love the kick but hate myself. I admired myself before pain. There was a simplicity before I started lying to myself.
Poetry
There’s nowhere to go but forward, but that’s ok because today we are creating tomorrow’s memories.
Poetry
My altruism may be my most cynical quality, after all who will help everyone if I don’t?
Poetry
The haunting pain of labors dry My soul begins to close within my daunting try Flaunting in vain my neighbors pry My joy becomes gaunt before I cry