Convert to poetry

1. 59

   blican468posted 11 years ago

   Interlock my attention captivate my ears with sweet melodies of writing . Compel to the public with thesis of your very own inner beliefs

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   1. 83

      ajwrites57posted 11 years agoin reply to this

      Hard to resist such a request!

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2. 63

   Ben Evansposted 11 years ago

   Like a good man he started out true
   straight as a board and
   all brand new
   Its all just a illusion.
   
   The wind bends and shapes his attitude
   The dust he breathes pierces his lungs
   A chip off the old block is crude
   So be it there is no prejudice.
   
   No shape is taken out of kindness or respect
   it is spread along the vast space
   as the trees sing a song in circumspect
   the wind blows out of bitterness.
   
   
   Looking for a peace
   is wasted side by side with a friend
   He asked someone if he were to cease
   “Would you kill someone”?
   
   The bell shook and did ring
   and the thought is often how just bad it is
   The angels did not sing
   Yet he heard their aria.
   
   So the noose is woven fiber
   that is drawn tight until
   it cracks the back of the skull.
   That’s all happens when he turn his head.
   
   Yet he is just a twisted thorn.
   blown into the bush which carried him
   like a dry hardened plant
   which travels with the wind along the path.
   
   To stick in the one whose likely
   arrogance has saved no ones sole
   yet infection is called unfair
   but it is what it is.
   
   A long sense
   causes death not of insignificance
   but of being unaware.
   The ones who wept
   
   did not care.
   They ate a well digested dinner
   and carried on
   after the funeral’s show ended.
   
   The wings spread against the sky
   as the clouds split the sun and the moon.
   A man once bound
   is free to roam.

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   1. 83

      ajwrites57posted 11 years agoin reply to this

      Remind's me of  "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly"!  :cool

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3. 83

   ajwrites57posted 11 years ago

   The winter 's frozen wind binds me in its icy grip.
   Spring's first robin, stiff, unmoving on the path.
   The wind's howl of desparation echoes in winter's caves.
   The rigid season's grasp holds long,
   unmoved as the sun strugggles against it,
   unable to break through the frozen sky.

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   1. 83

      ajwrites57posted 11 years agoin reply to this

      I have not having spellcheck here...

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4. 0

   ahorsebackposted 11 years ago

   there is a place within the human heart
   that only a poet see's
   It's shaded there from all light
   the hardest one to please
   
   Is one line ever enough
   the voice speaks for no ones ears
   It could be a slowly leaking soul
   developing through the years
   
   Yet either or yes  and thats just the
   way it goes ?
   The poet goes down but alone
   in loves final throws

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   1. 83

      ajwrites57posted 11 years agoin reply to this

      Nice!

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