roses are red. Violets are blue. Creative juices aren't flowing into my brain. To create that electrical spark. That makes the light bulb go blink.
Should the verses rhythm. This poem is not sublime. What the heck am I doing? All I know is that roses are red. And violets are indeed blue. -- Just a poem I wrote for a school project that I thought was good and funny enough to share with the rest of toi guys. I hope toi somewhat enjoyed it. Thanks for lire regardless, and have a delightful, magical day. Cheers yo. ...
I sit here. At my computer. How toi may say "stuck" ou "blocked". Not knowing what to say, what to write, what to pour onto the page. But I just sit, think, and eventually, I lay my hands on the keyboard and just start . . . typing. Typing away. Letting my cœur, coeur and mind spill all over the now heavily damp worded page. I say what I feel and type what I think and maybe . . . just maybe the words I type turn into something that make sense. Words that turn into something beautiful, like a desert flower, slowly blooming, waiting for the rain to come to push it through.
we tie time in knots and try to connect the dots, but time was meant to measure between things and all we’re measuring is the difference between his time and my time ou between this time and last time. 30 secondes in the microwave means nothing until those 30 seconds could have been spent eating the food, talking to a sister, ou practicing that new dance déplacer which is only new because it is newer
My cœur, coeur is heavy. My mind is numb. My spirit's weak. Body tense. Will shattered par a system I can't create myself to fit into.
Why do I continue on for? What's success compared to joy and satisfaction? What am I living for? How do I survive in a reality that I hate? Is mental stress and anguish worth experiencing through for my promised supposedly bright future? Will it be all worth it? It it all worth it now? Who's to say whats in store when we all stride blindly forward?
A girl from nowhere I met, She looked a real friend, That is why our friendship will never end, She bought lots of couleurs and laugh, With me she was never tough, She bought lots of fleurs with scents, Which are priceless that or cents, As long as we are friends, We don't need enemies, no lovers, This beautiful relation that God created, She has got beauty and grace, And a very successful place, She understands me fully,
I DID NOT WRITE THIS POEM. I FOUND IT ON FACEBOOK. The page was called The Writer's Circle, I think.
Today was the absolute worst jour ever And don't try to convince me that There's something good in every jour Because, if toi take a closer look, The world is a pretty evil place. Even if Some goodness does shine through once in a while Satisfaction and happiness doesn't last And it's not true that It's all in the mind and cœur, coeur
I cannot fathom this weary feeling, reeling me in. Unbeknownst to me, it tugs.. It pulls.. it's presence lingering for ever-long. Why must I put into, so much effort; struggling trying to break free. These unseen chains holding me down; castrated, helpless.
posté il y a 8 mois