old rusty swings,
found under the starlight.
moonbright rays and
eyes sparkling bright.
summer's eve.
Piercing through the black,
her giggles caressed the air.
whispers of an angel,
holding her near.
Angels wings caught the tears
of the broken in the night.
Tear drops of a shattered heart
and a whispered empty tomb.
Like screams in the night she
longed for love to come,
but it never came.
she knew it wasn't coming.
winter's dawn
When her heart at last felt hopeless,
she kissed the lips of death
h
The word of meeting,
Shouted on
Every street corner.
Tossed and bandied
With gestures and
Handshakes.
Saddled with meaning,
And stripped of wisdom.
What does it mean to say hello?
What would it mean
If I were to say
That when I talk with you,
I feel like I'm standing in the sun?
And what if I
Called you a ray of sunshine?
What does that mean?
I'm grasping for words
To explain the intangible.
And whispering
Nothings into wisdoms
Of the ages.
Well, here I am.
It's silence
And I'm speaking.
Whispering words
Of sunlight and sunshine
Into the empty space
Between the stars.
Into your heart.
A memory locked away,
Like a picture in a locket,
Never to be forgot.
Beautiful words
Found brazened like
Bronze into the hearts
And souls
Of those you've touched.
Heart felt words grasped
By the ones who
Hear, see, smell, touch, taste
You in the presence of
The empty air.
So just reach out,
To the hands that
Are grasping for you,
And maybe you would see
Cinnamon Mocha Wood by ArtbySandiJohnson, literature
Literature
Cinnamon Mocha Wood
Cinnamon Mocha Wood
They have brought me peace these woods
In barren winter, staring deep within,
Though I walk them naught.
They are someone elses woods,
And this but a narrow finger, here.
The land lies thick with leaf,
Leaf of chocolate and spice,
Streaked with fingers of pale light.
Cinnamon nutmeg leaves,
Clinging still to stubborn oak,
Seem to float upon the air-
Just below the frozen sky.
The depth is marked by cold gray stone, there,
Spot of Cedar green, here,
And coffee black rotting logs, everywhere.
The woods shimmer with the diamond cold
On each slender branch and dancing twig.
The woods seem frozen but
Why is it,
That locked away
In the bowels of
A little seashell
We can hear the ocean,
But I can't hear
My heart,
Locked away
Inside of me?
What makes shells
So beautiful,
And my silence
So devastating?
Where do
All these roads lead,
And why do seashells
Mark the bitter
Path from
Shore to shining shore?
Words, words, words..
What a wonderful weapon,
Says the little devil
Floating beside our shoulders.
What are these bones?
They're not quite brittle
Won't they ever hurt enough
But hearts, warm hearts
Now those, those are
Easy to break, and twist,
And tear so that
Ripe blood drips everywhere.
It is with words that we are broken,
And with anger that we shatter.
No amount of broken bones
Could ever hurt like
A broken heart
CartheInsane's Connection 8 by platinummyr, literature
Literature
CartheInsane's Connection 8
Alas, what are the things
Which to me happiness
Might they bring?
Hear it all, this I confess...
The sound of raindrops
Upon my window pattering
And the smell of gumdrops.
Maybe even funny mutterings.
What of these things
Simple they may be
As are angel's wings
This is me, can't you see?
But most of all
I think I've found
That it's your hall
And your sound.
hook.
evolution reconstructed the words in between
beginnings until mermaids existed
in pieces of jupiter and pluto,
playing astronaut or god.
(they like to pretend theyre
shipwrecked nations out in
space.
they like to pretend
they have your heart or
something equally gilded and worthless.)
they needed something more than folding
faceless sons and daughters out of origami
flowers but you were
busy wondering about
the mechanics of things like fifth degree burns and
gravity and the way electromagnets must
have reversed the inner workings of their
hearts.
line.
the planets are waiting for the right
moment to collid