I write based on heart. I love based on thought. I think based on truth.
With stone hands, it's hard to reach me. Each passing second feels elongated, each moment too far stretched. With this sensation,
By Mihaela Vasileva4 years ago in Poets
How grand everything is. The woods, after suffering the whips of flames and after being shredded by keepers of the peace,
As you stare at the world, You watch great sorrow unfurl. You walk past strange faces, the bright lights and wild cases.
So gently, so gently it begins its descent. To the world it falls, here in the present. It is here. I feel it. I know where it landed.
As he searched his pockets, he began to sink into the inevitable truth: what was lost was to remain lost indefinetly. Saddened by this fact, he proceeded to wait.
Even when the water stirs at the ripple following a throw of a stone, the calm returns. Even when the woods take in the heave of wind the clouds blow
When the day breaks, a shy shadow awakes. I, its keeper, follow and my own guilt I swallow. I know from the morning light
Strange as it seemed, you end up remembering almost everything about them. Though you had had the pleasure of seeing them in your dreams
Sitting here by the blazing fire, mutes my voice and feeds desire. As my tears turn into fresh dust, my heart begins to beat and rust.
On the hunt, you search only for one thing. It doesn’t matter what your humanity says. Anything that breathes is yours for the taking.
Everything green eventually finds its place amongst the broken bridges and roads. As soon as havoc ensues, the green emerges from its captivity.
How perplexing is this: being stuck in a perpetual cycle of ups and downs, but with the understanding that the downs are far deeper than anticipated jumps into space.