love poems
Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
One blue star
Behind the forests, behind the mountains, behind the rivers, behind the sea, bushes, grass, again tonight, a strange blue star awaits you, star of law. Even if you don't believe it, try to remember it. When you close your eyes and when you fall asleep, you try to hear her, to fly away to catch it and save it when you come back. But beware: if not quite blue, quite right, one must sleep better, dream until dawn, must wander on, three hundred times, five hundred times, the second must be found... the third... the fifth... he must go to the end of the world in his dream and even further beyond the end - to infinity. There must be such a star. What are you wondering? Just make sure you don't drop it somewhere when you wake up. Just make sure it doesn't get lost somewhere, don't hurt. Such a star in life means a lot, is worth a lot. I won't tell you what this blue star is, star bright. When you find it, you will know for yourself. Now it's a secret
By Nikola Ilic3 years ago in Poets
"CATALINA BOARDWALK ROMANCE". Content Warning.
This is fictional prose. The characters and story are fictional, and were created by the author's eclectic brain of fairytales blended with real life of places, people, and other stuff. The Pink Blush Hotel and The Dream Factory Studios are fictional properties. Any reflection to real characters is coincidental.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 3 years ago in Poets
The secret
When the month passes with yellow hair, Then from the heavenly black fields That single word fell like a drop: Then I understood what my loneliness is. . . And I understood, as if enchanted, What is the meaning of my fear among things. Spread the morning like flames, A thousand white wings across the sea, And the bright earth spread the signs, And words all over the white marble. Then, faced with the secret that she was dying, All the mouths spoke things. Creator, through storm and through silence, I listen to all your great voices; And I'm waiting when you've passed all the paths In the field through our bright spikes, The end of the road to me atom hidden, To come to those classes: And you call me by my real name.
By Nikola Ilic3 years ago in Poets
