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As a poet within ......without

  1. ahorseback profile image53
    ahorsebackposted 3 years ago

    Keeping it all locked deep deep inside
    with all the attic secrets
    safety in  dark places
    What comes of this baring of the
    soul anyways
    But the pathes of continued yearning
    I bared it all
    and paid a price for the honesty
    No........and I told myself in the beginning
    don't do this
    Yet I did .......I gave it all and still
    still I feel the same

    1. Jaggedfrost profile image87
      Jaggedfrostposted 3 years ago in reply to this

      If the deeds of the hand
      and word of the mouth
      were all that one was capable of
      not a bit would be more
      ripples on a pond
      if the heart moves
      and moves the heart of another
      through selflessness
      and true knowledge
      of our fellow
      then what we do
      becomes enough and to spare
      for most would know
      that the actions were pure
      and with such purity
      the sacrifice is forever.

  2. Gypsy Rose Lee profile image62
    Gypsy Rose Leeposted 3 years ago

    When all the cobwebs are swept aside
    And the gloom disappears
    Where there was supposed to be love
    An empty space remains

  3. cleaner3 profile image79
    cleaner3posted 3 years ago

    Our best is never good enough
    our worst is in the trash
    we lay awake ...
    long lonely nights
    as our minds thrash...
    with the words we want to write
    telling of all the sadness within
    the happiness we once called
    love ... now this word... is a sin

    1. Valorie Esquilona profile image80
      Valorie Esquilonaposted 3 years ago in reply to this

      this thin string is the bridge
      to the future you can't perceive.
      no one dares to live on the edge
      until you're born to die.
      the thread you hold
      will let the story unfolds.
      don't be jaded to fly
      to reach that mountain high.

  4. Ben Evans profile image74
    Ben Evansposted 3 years ago

    An apple in a far away orchard
    remains in the rote of a story
    told of a tree

    .........as it stands in grand posture
    on hills that roll beautifully fore a
    back drop of a sun lit afternoon.

    A red shaped fruit
    with green speckles
    sits imperfectly.

    So while the tree whines loudly
    as the wind blows melodically
    through branches in the minds tenure

    .......the apple sits there waiting
    to eventually drop to the ground
    with a tart sweetness never experienced.