thespes

Do I make my angel weep, Bowing down on bended knee, When I sit on a lonely couch And wrap myself in apathy? Do I make my angel yell, Beat the air with angry fists, When I crawl into my bed And wallow in the dark and doubt? Could I make my angel sing, Smiling brighter than the sun, If I were to seize the day And of failure worry not?

“I have a dispatch for the general, sir.” “It can wait.” “But, sir, it’s urgent.  From the King himself.” “The general is sleeping.” “...I see, sir.  I’ll see him when he wakes.” * * * * * * * * * * * * The woman was on a promontory playing her flute.  The wind whipped through her hair, making it mimic the cascade of her crimson dress.  The general’s practical mind noted that the direction of the wind would make playing the flute difficult, if not impossible, yet the mournful sight of her music floated effortlessly above the percussive wind.  This was a dream. H

I don't see How this is Poetry It seems To me It's just a Sentence Broken apart By Captain Kirk Pauses

When a ripple disturbs the surface Of your soul’s eternal lake, What creature starts to stir? What beast do you awake? Is it a grey-green slug who moans, But won’t be bothered to care? Or perhaps a small grey fish That runs away to its lair? A dragon sporting blood red teeth Could lose a fearsome roar, Or will a woman clad in white Calmly walk along the shore? When the ripple mars the mirror Of that internal water, Shall you call the Golden Lady, Or will you breed a monster?

I could talk of the flash of loneliness When you said you were reading downstairs; I could talk of the burn of solitude When I bid goodnight to the air. I could talk of the pain of want When I sleep in my bed alone; I could talk of the torture of yearning When I get up and nobody’s home. But the words just seem trite And too old for my lips, And I feel that I haven’t the right To complain, for I’ll see you again, And soon. So I’ll tell you the news of the day Whenever you drop me a line; So I’ll tell you the details of school When nothing else comes to mind. So I’ll tell you all of my worries Whenever I n

The stuttering scamper of shriveled leaves Serenades me as I saunter home, While the wind whistles wantonly A tune of whimsical woes. The carrot-colored crescent moon Cackles at my coming, But the lowly lamplight loves me And he leads me to my home. The final fragile flicker of light Flees the firmament When the inching sky of ink Invades with insidious imps. The dour dankness of the dark Could desiccate a diamond, But the lowly lamplight loves me And he leads me to my home. The mystery of midnight musk Imbues the melancholy mist With black and baleful blabbering Of bitter buried bones. Their roiling roars reeks With rancid rotting rage, Bu

Born in light and bred in laughter; Three sisters, friends for ever after; Two Classic parents who never age; One girl whose life is for the stage. Bred in laughter, raised in love; Such blessings sent from Him above: A place to stay and food to eat And helping hands to guide my feet. Raised in love to live for fun, My life has only just begun!

Dear Monster, You're probably wondering why I'm writing this to you.  For a long time, I wouldn't even acknowledge you exist.  I was so afraid of you.  It was easy in the daytime; surrounded by people, I could easily drown you out, but at night, alone, in the dark, you'd come creeping up to me, a montage of the days events flashing before my eyes, warped by your twisted and paranoid sensibilities. I admit that you used to have quite the hold on me, but I'm growing stronger, aren't I?  I can feel it.  Where it used to take all my mental force to hold you at bay, I can now do with a simple thought.  You're inventions and plots and worries are

A bowl of wet wheat with Dyed sucrose and plant eggs. A mug of water flavored By crushed up plants. A labor of love From my progenitor.

The moonlight from that night lies In my pocket cradled between The warm silken softness of your skin And the gentle scratch of the blanket, Surrounded by a potpourri of Musk and dust and oaken floorboards, Wrapped in a bag of midnight sky, And tied with a ribbon of laughter.