"And I am not frightened of dying, any time will do, I don't mind. Why should I be frightened of dying? There's no reason for it, you've gotta go sometime."
"I want so badly to believe
That there is truth, that love is real".
To go home.
A place where sky is a
Mosaic of pinks and cloud,
Blended together like
Wild cherry blossoms
On a lush spring land.
Loud waves
Audible in echo;
between the wet hills
But a whisper of breath,
lapping against the cold, matted sand.
All these years
the crawling mud
between the toes-
Gritty sludge
foreign to soft feet
Is still appealing.
And the droplets of sun
Bits of light- of life
sliding down a canvas
Disrupted by the blowing wind
The wind,
Drowning the hills
Still wet with dew,
Seeps into the mouths of crevices that
Swallow rivers whole
into the earthy well.
"I want so badly to believe
That there is truth, that love is real".
To go home.
A place where sky is a
Mosaic of pinks and cloud,
Blended together like
Wild cherry blossoms
On a lush spring land.
Loud waves
Audible in echo;
between the wet hills
But a whisper of breath,
lapping against the cold, matted sand.
All these years
the crawling mud
between the toes-
Gritty sludge
foreign to soft feet
Is still appealing.
And the droplets of sun
Bits of light- of life
sliding down a canvas
Disrupted by the blowing wind
The wind,
Drowning the hills
Still wet with dew,
Seeps into the mouths of crevices that
Swallow rivers whole
into the earthy well.
- Last seen on Sep 9 3:23 AM. Member since July 5, 2005.
- I'm a supertopaz delight poet for 82 comments.
- I am a 18 year old woman from California (United States)
- When I'm not writing, I'm living it.
- Visit my homepage at myspace.com/livinglifemother
- I have 82 comments, 2 contests, 36 poems, 2 stories
My Poetry
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I'm alone, yet I shove you off like a sweater on a hot night,
Hoping that the blankets will keep me close,15 lines, February 8
My Stories
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286 lines, 1 comment, January 12, 2007. In <600 words
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The curls in her hair had slowly lost their life as the rain fell in beads onto her bowed head. Her makeup forgotten, and her clothes thrown on, every bit of her seemed tired and desperate. She sprinted through the wood, over
