Contributor Posts

Loving many, may give you pleasure
and keep your evenings full
but knowing, that love is absent,
makes your love untrue.

They say that talk is cheap
and only action speaks for me,
but I will tell you,
that though,my words may be hollow,
I still think of you
and the words you spoke to me.

I feel this great compulsion
to create or to write,
as if some, unseen force,
drives me towards a goal
that exists only in my mind.

This comprehension of an
invisible being, inside me,
clawing to get out,
forcing me to write,
when, by rights,
I should be working.

The body is willing
but my mind has no direction,
unable to concentrate,
on one, pure thought.

It's not easy, being lonely,
especially, when surrounded
by friends.
But when your good,
nothing is difficult.
I can find myself in
pits of sorrow,
covered with my own
self pity,
feeling sad,
for no reason.

Goodbye cynics,
one and all.
Goodbye, farewell,
to you.
Keep your comments,
to yourself,
for I don't care
to know,
what you think or
if you do at all.

Have you seen all the people,
walking down the street?
Some are strange and funny
and some I'd like to meet,
to say hello, how are you,
with meaning and with care.
To embrace and kiss in public
and not worry, that people stare,
at my naked feelings.

Listen, to a loves whisper,
can you hear the sound,
in the voices of your friends
or the laughter of children playing?
Listen!

Being lonesome, is not being lonely,
for lonely people are lacking friends.
Lonesome people miss their
surroundings or their friends
and loved ones.
Wishing to be alone, at moments,
is looked upon, by some, as
being anti social,
when, in fact, people have
different needs or if you will,
a different tolerance of others.
Don't be surprised, if I seek
to be alone, away from you.

When I grow up, I want to be,
all the good things you want of me,
like
considerate.

Sleep, sleep, the restful peace
of silence and darkness.

Warm winds push me away
from memories of the past,
as I escape, across the sea.
Sounds of slapping waves
as the ship brushes through
the iridescent froth,
of the sea, soothed the hurt
of my leaving you.

The days appear like serpentines,
sculpted, as if, from brass
as the nights, black curtain of darkness,
falls around us.
The moon's faint beams, of sadness,
begin to fill the voids,
except for shadows of darkness
staying the coming dawn.
Great rays of brightness, leaps from
the rising sun
and once more it is morning and
a new day has begun.