amy poetry doesn't hold a candle to blather. 000115
jennifer true, but when our world is no longer here, they are a feasable substitute...

nothing holds a candle to blather
silentbob my hand holds a candle to blather when blather is lost in the cold ever-loathing darkness. i give blather a candle and tell blather, "Everything will be alright, my love...just...try to think of those good times, when you and she would go to the park and slide on the slide" and blather looks me in the eye and says, "Memories...are all i have left." and then blather blows out the candle and disappears forever inside my stomach 000617
ear parcel i have become permanently affixed to the metal plate in your head.

they always told me i had a magnetic personality,

but this is just rediculous
Christy honey your radiance is intoxicating. the heat you give off is evident to all, even as you walk by, slow, pausing just long enough to gather me up, piece by shattered piece, and carry me along, swift yet considerate. all apologies, boy, but you don't possess me, though i'm mesmerized by your warm slight touch. 010910
falling from the floating world. i thought perhaps
as the moon waned
so would my love.
Alvarny Drawn to ambition and lofty ideals, often ignoring that they can sometimes be and often are synonymous with egoism... 050326
the kid i thought maybe
it was just the way she carries herself
dancing along the lines of acceptance
getting attention but not wanting it
thoughts in her mind reflecting on her every word and how she could'nt just say no without feeling a little empty inside
and all the while just being herself
one face to million feelings to describe would be impossible like asking in how many ways can rain fall i guess then you just say
she's just magnetic
Risen I think a lot about what magnetic forces do to us. Not on a literal level, but on a poetic one.

There's a part of a poem in my head... years ago the few lines would have been sown and germinated and grown into... something. Now it's just bouncing around my head, and it needs to get out, because the other thing needs to be what I focus on.

He is the sun. The centre
Of the universe you created.
You revolve around it, in the same
Elliptical patterns you learned
Beside the home hearth.

I am the moon. Barely there, except
In the reflected lights.
I am nothing... but we are magnetic
I can move
The tides inside you.

Then there's something about how we're all made of water and a dirty joke in there... but I'm not a poet anymore
unknown (to finish your poem, Risen)

Because the universe does not bend
the way we want it to.

Instead it follows shallow breaths,
the pattern of heart beats,
and knows that
the earth does not rotate around the sun
any more than the moon
controls the tides.

Because in dreams we whisper,
voices low
and deeper toned.

And in the shadows
with fingertips linked,

We are always home.
Notunknown I should not have put my username as unknown - it wasn't the one I formally used.

You'll know from my poetry, I'm sure.

I think.

I hope.
Risen Thank you, much better than I could have managed 170531
what's it to you?
who go