The day the faeries died.How is it That things that once made sense Now make no sense at all? Writing on wallsThe day the faeries died.
In colourful crayons, Or searching for goblins And faeries And talking cats in forests.
Where did it go? And who told us
that these things were all
Unreal?
Or did we just lose Heart?
Paradox.You lived in a paradox Your heart trapped in a marble box And even when you said goodbye I knew your words were all a lie Truth, Truth became a dreamParadox.
The dusk came from the east The morning sun soon ceased And though I heard you breathing, I knew you were deceiving Death, Death became your life
Broken-Ribs, you're fading fast Living in your clouded past Breathe, darling, breathe I know you're not for me No, you're not for me
You said the sun came from the west And morning for the moon was best You heard the la
Dear Stranger.Dear stranger, I am the girl that wrote, "You are lovely" on the back Of that old dollar bill And now that bill can go And travel to fantastic And even magical placesDear Stranger.
To give a smile to someone Just like I gave a smile to you.
Dear stranger, I am the girl that left The flower on your doorstep With the note that said, "I hope your day Is as lovely as this flower." Because I think that Flowers are beds for fairies And maybe their fairy dust Will rub off onto you And make you even more magical Than you all ready are. &n
I am not a writer.I do not believe in writers,I am not a writer.
Even though you could call me one. Because none of us, None of us "writers" really write All we do is listen.
We go on fantastic adventures Involving unicorns And rainbows And perhaps a cat named Phonton Or something like that.
Those adventures tell us Their own magical stories, And all we do Is write them down.
Because we "writers"
Are very polite. We are courteous, And receptive to courtesy. (Oh, that was a reference To a movie,
You should know) And it would be &nb
| I give you my words. My words come to you from old notebooks that are worn and beaten until nearly lifeless. My words come from my very core and I only give them to you because I hope that you feel the emotions I feel when I write my words down upon fading paper with old chewed up pencils and pens. My words are for you. |
| + My name is Aussie. + I am an artist of many mediums. + Writing is my life, my passion. + Music controls my soul. + You will not like me. |
I'd just like to let you know,
Zest
--
No I don't like Alistair Darling but I bloody love his eyebrows.
--
'...for the eyeing of my scars there is a charge...'
--
"I knew peace only when I killed... and when I heard her heart in that terrible rhythm I knew again what peace could be"
Open for commission
Click this ---> [link]
--
i'm not afraid to die. but i'm afraid to dry./
"Je ne suis pas d’accord avec ce que vous dites, mais je me
battrai jusqu’? la mort pour que vous ayez le droit de le dire"
--
Don't mind me. I'm just unclipping those bound wings.
I'm in the Writer's Club [link]
I really appreciate it. Apologies that the thankyou is a little late.
--
my website [link]
my blog [link]
--
I lost the game.
-HaRvEsTrEaPeR
Thank you so much for your
[link]
I'm pleased you liked my poem
--
There's always a better poem just out of reach.
Words create situations [link]
The roots of the future run deep [link]
`n
--
i'm a million different people from one day to the next.
Previous Page12345...Next Page