its been awhile
Untitled
Anonymous
When you sleep, no one is homeless.
When you sleep, you cant feel the hunger.
When you sleep, no one is lonely in a dream -
Without classes, without nations.
When you sleep, she's standing there with open arms,
And one night could last forever,
And if you asked her, she'd never let go,
And you'd stay forever.
And the sun's always rising somewhere,
And if young hearts could explode
From all the lives they've been told,
Let the new might bring you peace.
this isnt mine. but i got a copy of the thistle in my mailbox today. and this one just.... took me. i miss poetry. i miss the beauty of writing. and the pretty words i could use to decorate my thoughts. i havent writen anything in awhile. not on here. not in classes. not anywhere. i havent written since i came back from england over a year and a half ago. perhaps its corny to say that i lost my inspiration. but i did stop writing when ms. g. and i stopped being friendly. and i dont think its a coincidence.
i still quote poems i remember. alot. and i still love reading them. alot. sometimes i criticize them. and sometimes i wonder if i were to go into the corner of my room where i keep all my poems, what would i think of my poems?was i cheesy and stupid? or just full of emotion? maybe i was just blind to the reality of things, that nothing can ever be as pretty and decorated as the words i could put on the page.
nothing gold can stay,
and neither could her smile.
I miss my fantasy world
^that one's mine. i havent lost it.. i just lost my inspiration.
MaDDS
Anonymous
When you sleep, no one is homeless.
When you sleep, you cant feel the hunger.
When you sleep, no one is lonely in a dream -
Without classes, without nations.
When you sleep, she's standing there with open arms,
And one night could last forever,
And if you asked her, she'd never let go,
And you'd stay forever.
And the sun's always rising somewhere,
And if young hearts could explode
From all the lives they've been told,
Let the new might bring you peace.
this isnt mine. but i got a copy of the thistle in my mailbox today. and this one just.... took me. i miss poetry. i miss the beauty of writing. and the pretty words i could use to decorate my thoughts. i havent writen anything in awhile. not on here. not in classes. not anywhere. i havent written since i came back from england over a year and a half ago. perhaps its corny to say that i lost my inspiration. but i did stop writing when ms. g. and i stopped being friendly. and i dont think its a coincidence.
i still quote poems i remember. alot. and i still love reading them. alot. sometimes i criticize them. and sometimes i wonder if i were to go into the corner of my room where i keep all my poems, what would i think of my poems?was i cheesy and stupid? or just full of emotion? maybe i was just blind to the reality of things, that nothing can ever be as pretty and decorated as the words i could put on the page.
nothing gold can stay,
and neither could her smile.
I miss my fantasy world
^that one's mine. i havent lost it.. i just lost my inspiration.
MaDDS