poeticburst's Xanga

This is my way to say I miss you

Fri, 19 Sep 2008 04:16:23 GMT

Even on this sleepless night
I sit alone, yet have no fear.
Sadness is no welcoming light
and is very far from near.
Though many say that love is endless
Few would know to tell.
But no matter how far the world brings us
Love you, I always shall.

Again I sit,
alone but not lonely,
Yes I'll quote that overused line,
But tonight, my dear,
This heart is missing,
Or at least it is not here.

I left it there the day I parted,
Sweet sorrow in my words,
For there is no land of the missing hearted,
As love takes no prisoners.

This is my way to say I miss you
I love you and all that jazz,
For I cannot buy you fancy gifts
Meer words are all I have.

And yet I'll claim you leave me breathless;
Speechless if you will,
For in you presence, your beauty so radiant,
Drove this poet too his knees.
I cried to God for guidence and help
And pleaded with Satan through prayer
That a man like me, so simply confused
Could promise he'd always be there.

Again I'll say, this is my way
To say how much I need you.
Love and passion is bursting within,
Crying for freedom,
Pleading to be released,
Dying to be shown,
Begging for mercy,
And scratching, slashing, prying at this heart,
This poor poet's heart
Overcome by beauty and love,
Lust and caring,
And hope,
Hope for an eternity as one being,
One love, life, feeling,
Yet two people.

This is my way to say I miss you
I love you and all that jazz,
For I cannot buy you fancy gifts
Meer words are all I have.

I know that this is all you could ask for,
Yet not even what you need,
For you tell me you love me
And you know I do you
Together we can be free.
We don't need to buy
Build or create,
We together simply know
That the other, forever,
Will love each for always,
And that's just how it goes.

For this heart is missing,
Or at least it is not here,
Not broken or shatered or lost,
It's simply been left in the hands of my love,
Where it shall stay,
No matter the cost.

I left it there the day I parted,
Sweet sorrow in my words,
For there is no land of the missing hearted,
As love takes no prisoners.

This is my way to say I miss you
I love you and all that jazz,
For I cannot buy you fancy gifts
Meer words are all I have.

Stars

Sun, 24 Aug 2008 00:26:41 GMT

Stars, are what we will never know
Stars, are the light to our unkown life
Stars, are the friends we could have
Stars, are the people we could meet
Stars, are the people we could lose
Stars, are what we will never know

I'm a star to you
And to all the world
Just a star, not person
My differences aren't seen
Unless somebody gets close close
And nobody plays with that kind of fire

The light from me
Shines down on others
But they still look past me
All they see is the big picture
Nobody sees my individuality
All they see is the group, all alike

Try taking a chance
Step into the heat I give
Walk through the fire around me
Let me show you that I can be true
Realize that I'm no star, but a fire for you

Look to the stars, take one last chance
Look to the stars, to guide your choice
Look to the stars, for help and for hope
Look to the stars, for the truth from your heart
Look to the stars, to see who you belong with
Look to the stars, and tell me you see me

Try Living

Sun, 24 Aug 2008 00:24:15 GMT

We've all felt that fear to know
to hear to show
admit to who we are
or even submit to how far
we've come from step one.
We all try to hide inside
and confide in our fear
so we won't hear
won't know and then
will never show
just what we do
or who we are.
The loss of grip on reality
we slip to the bottom
of our self filled pit
to split and scream
as we run
once our past has begun
to catch up with us.
We all know who we are
was who we were before.
It defines us to the core,
asks for more,
till the shore of our sanity is lost.
So stand up, break down
with the sound of your voice
the walls of fear of choice
and express
the repressed
so success
and freedom can follow.
Fear not who you are
and know that if you shed
a tear
not to fear
just realise
the size
of the weight
of your fate
and share
express
define
Yourself

Tonight

Sun, 27 Jul 2008 05:03:51 GMT

When the right pictures show
Wrong music plays
Simple thoughts wander
And pains soars
Wait until Tonight

Tonight
When the eagles soar
the starts shine
Tonight
When flowers close
and sunlight fades
It leaves us all with nothing
Tonight.

Tonight, the night of nights
When heart beats race
and eyes flash
Flare, the passions sears
through body and soul
When the hands clench fists
and smiles fade
When man will just collapse
Tonight.

Tonight
If it all falls through
What then?
Will have to fight again?
Or will the moon just let us sleep?
We swim in anger
Just turn the lights off
let us weep
And share our pain
With all the world.
Through blood
and sweat
and tears.
Tonight

Glory Unknown

Wed, 25 Jun 2008 00:21:30 GMT

The view from above is startling green, only to be punctured by the clearest of blues. Mimicking bottled water for clarity and the wolf for self-preservation, this wondrous view entices the eyes. Even in the plane you can see pines untouched and maples untapped, each with their own saplings around them. They wave in the wind, scaring birds of brown and gold into flight, each mingling and flowing together to make a mass more solid than the stone cliffs they hunt from, yet more fluid than the water below.

Once on the ground, the pine dominates the nostrils. Underlying oak and fresh water spice become more apparent as you approach the shore. The plane fades giving way to the singing winged and the frantic four-legged, each pursuing their friends.

Noon fast approaches, drawing the silky deer and cotton rabbits for a drink from the smooth self-provided lake. Not a stream for stragglers nor a pond for the peckish, simply serenity serenading silence towards towers of trees tangled together.

Through thorns and burs meeting wasps and bees, each prick on the arm is cooled by the soft brush of wind giving lift to seeds and feathers. The barrier of bark is broken, leaving ecstasy for the senses. All is clear. Each tree is defined;animal heard;wind chilling;sweep felt. Every notion of beauty is known and the description is lost. Perfection in a glance is held from this point and no man has played a part. Nature at it's finest. This untouched world is larger than the earth, yet confined to this one piece of perfection protruding from development. From this single cliff, the glory of a wild world can be seen a thousand fold.

Sweet Goodbyes [my love]

Sun, 11 May 2008 03:13:49 GMT

And thus, my love, till the light of a new day, one in which we know no evil, we show nye but mercy to those who fear, compassion to those who cry, and friendship to those unknown.

On that day, my love, we shall again be one, and shall again define what perfection means.

And then, my love, we can live forever, together in the eyes of the unwatching world of those who are blind to reality.

And thus, my love, I bid my final farewell, till 'morrow is bright on the Eastward horizon.

Till then, my love, we shall be free in our hearts, together in spirit, yet forever distanced on road.

Soldier

Sat, 01 Mar 2008 03:49:45 GMT

Rocks cast skyward as peace becomes panic;voices shift to tears

Yet I am disconnected

I am a soldier; I have been shot

The motion around me is slow;I can't seem to join it's capricious movement

My vision blurs as pain hits

I am a soldier; I have been shot

Open Mouths, blazing guns, flying bullets and erupting fires

The ground becomes a sandy pillow

I am a soldier; I have been shot

Feet pass overhead in a flurry spinning in circles of time

The sky, my eye candy canvas, my only hope for home and love and peace, is blackened as the sun seems to die

I was a soldier; I had been shot

Stream of conscience, grammatically correct, one sentence

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 22:52:48 GMT

The burning trees, orange leaves, bark, breathing with each wind that passes through branches as they fly past the window; my connection to the world which fights and dies and lives ignoring what happens to any and every thing and body, living or dead, as they share the ground we call earth, or rather home, a home, a place we live, die, love, lose, are the same and differ from who knows what where, or maybe it’s how that makes us different from each other, ourselves, the sky above; ground below that passes unnoticed by the eye we capture history with as it occurs in the world that fights and kills as it shares this place we call earth, our home, a second pass at the circle created by the mind and heart to open doors and windows; to create paths and end them, yes, end paths that are lain for others who need the doors closed, making us all responsible for the fate our home, this earth, a third pass, lives in or on, and proving we all affect the nature of being; the process in which we contain, or lack thereof, our thoughts as they flow from mind to hand to pen to page to eyes to brain, a circle again, causing the thoughts to change and alter the idea held, lost among the beauty of the trees and flowers, the alarms the earth, our home, a fourth, leave us to say that it is the constant, the solid and the forever in our hearts; our love and hate and tears and panic as it, they-everything builds towards the imminent fate of death that causes loss and sorrow; clear skied rain with sunlight beaming; poets dreaming of a time when happiness inspired words that traveled from heart to mind to mouth to cars to mind to heart, sharing truths and lies alike, sparing none from it’s path of anticipated glory; destruction of the soul of the earth, the fifth and final.

Telling your story

Thu, 08 Nov 2007 01:15:41 GMT

Pine air freezing the skin allows

each person their own decision. If

you feel it to be cold, so be it that to you

cold is your life. A mountain seen tall is hollow

and alone. If warm be your path, then sit in relaxation,

knowing your life is to

well known and spoken of. You carry the tang

of lemon and the scream of broken hearted

pasts. No matter your choice, you sink into the puddle

of society. You become a face in a thousand masks, hiding

from the life you wished

to lead. You fall

only to have somebody catch you after

forgetting to pull your cord.

The parachute

falls useless. You are a victim

of reality.

Happy place

Thu, 08 Nov 2007 01:14:50 GMT

Sally had a meadow

where she went alone to write.

With not a single fear

she normally wrote at night.

She left late one dark night

only to find the meadow

the ring for a streetfight.

She cried, her head hanging low.

“Allof you stop!!” she screamed

as bones snapped like branches,

“Getout of my meadow!

You'll have no second chances!!”

They stopped, laughing wildly.

One barked “What's that you just said?”

“Leave my meadow in peace!”

“Or we can burn it instead!!”

So out came the lighters,

orange-gold-red flames quickly spread.

Sally sat down in tears

violently shaking her head.

She just couldn't let go

of this fortress of hers,

where else could she run to

when reality occurs?

She left her home to burn,

flames consuming her fake world

she ran into panic

tossed into turmoil, she twirled.

Whenever she writes, she

remembers all the beauty

and pities the people

it's beauty they did not see.

With not a single fear,

she normally wrote at night,

in her house built right where

she felt everything was right.

With not a single fear,

she normally wrote at night,

about that place she could

see, ignoring constant fright.