Trying to write a poem about fear, The fear of a poet always feels near. We write the words we feel we should, But are our works really that good? Will those around us appreciate our poem? Or will we be told to go back home? We look back at our words in shame, Thinking we were just playing a game, But you never know who needed your thought; The hearts or souls your words would have caught. For most words are not written in vain, So write your poem and then proudly, your name.
Writer, Poet, Artist. I am here for the chance of sharing my talents with people so they can enjoy my work. I have one book of poems, photography and paintings that is published, "Rambling Random Rhythms: A Book of Poems". I love being creative and I am excited to encourage others as well.
She stands and waits in her wedding gown Like white clouds Floating on her, she walks around she looks out of her window pane Wishing he will come to see her again The broken promise they can mend The fear
The name calls the name spraying the moon with red colour. It touches a nerve, when there is standoff on the lake. A blueish eye invades an iron space between near solids of docks. The gap was widening and the
Poetry wound and a large schism starts an invasion. Numbness pours out. You become nobody; depart without a farewell. A crazy word is lost and a delirious search is initiated. Bit by bit coexistence is found between the sheets. Unwrap
In the midst of conversation A question rose out of the blue, What would I do if such opportunity were to arise. In a conversation about long term goals without hesitation or notion Without any specifics given to her question