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Lit by the evening’s dying light,In our little town, by the cross-road,Gnarled fingers working his plightWas a cobbler of old. He plied his trade from his ramshackle store,
I won't let this Christmas song fade away, though the sea washes its dirt to shore, and the sun fades away at evening, I'll keep every single word to heart, and let its bells jingle in my soul,
MEANING OF CHRISTMAS. A GOOD CHRISTMAS
You can never really tell when a girl has been through trauma. And she'll hardly ever bring it up for fear of sounding like a melodrama. But I believe it's good to share, it could help others with the strain.
[This poem was written at the end of a very long and emotionally tiring week.
I want to read books over here. I want to read books over there. Books are great to read everywhere. I read with my friends at the library. I read with my sister at home.
I’ll always remember your kind loving heart, hoping fate will never tear us apart. Looking back all those years, great love and everlasting tears.
No one can make your dreams come true A thought provoking message from me to you If I want to make an imprint on society
Mine. Everything is mine. My toys, my candy, my blanket Mom invited someone new over. His. He thinks everything is his. His toys, his candy, his blanket
I remember giving a bracelet to one of my babysitter's when I was young. I made it out of my mother's yarn.
Deep breath and wipe away a tear, “Oh god how did I get here?” My eyes fall over the words And my heart feels less of the hurt. I send my work away
Here we are Once again Just you, me, And Twitter And look here Someone retweeted by pic Let me us send a quick thx, Oh wait This person used it negatively They posted this
Where are you right now? Am I dancing through your mind? I'm thinking of a night, our bodies last entwined. A passion on fire, blazing out of control. Flames so hot, brand you deep within my soul.
We know the story starts “once upon a time.” Maybe not now because this story is mine. So, I was sitting in a tree, When a girl came to me.
Labels are a dangerous thing. It’s good to feel like the happy girl,
my core, it bubbles. the fire is intensifying, the heat is unsatisfying. water boils in my chest, and my mind with its thoughts
I first started really writing poetry in ninth grade. They had a poetry slam at my school, and I had some friends who were going so I checked it out. It was so beautiful, the words they said and how they were said.
It is you with whom I speak, when the pen becomes my voice.When the cell bars of this prison-like mind slide open,you are the haven I seek under the full moon at 3 a.m.
I would like for you to think of me When you're bored or lonely or cold Not because I'm vengeful Or jealous Or evil (though I am all of these things) It is because I want you To feel this too
I had a secret that I did tell I told the pen, it kept it well, But then I told it to mankind And my condemnation I had signed. On a page the words will stay Small and silent they obey,
Live in the present not in the past, don't be concerned with the things that you never had.
He reads his words. I listen to them, Ponder them, Then give feedback. We discuss his artwork, How he expresses himself, And I try to tell him How they affected me.
Poetry, indeedA simple form of flatt'ryRhyming all the time Blogging with such easeSharing really cool storiesHonestly with hope Random as can beHaikus are all the rage hereNever dull moments
It’s Just a Heart! By: Kayla Logan The marketplace was off to a boring start that day, Until the cry to gather close, they heard someone say.