meanmaco12

Time seems to change us, but some things remain consistent, I stopped writing, but I never stopped making poetry, I am happy now, but still can't help but be hungry for more, We're closer than we used to be, but still every time we touch I say    "You're so soft." Some things remain consistent, I love you.

Hope is a message, It's the newborn's laugh, It's the boy watching the stars, It's the woman waiting for tomorrow, It's me, sitting on the boardwalk. Hope is you stopping when you see me, It's me telling you that story I promised I would tell no one else And it's what comes after, too.

I met a girl who was sad, Not the sadness most of us feel, For even when we smiled together a hundred times, She was the only one who was always truly melancholy. I met a boy who was angry, Not the anger most of us feel, For even when he forgave a thousand times, He was the only one who was always truly wrathful. I met a man who was alone, Not alone like the rest of us, For even when surrounded by ten thousand people, He was the only one who was always truly lonely.

    Perhaps I might be able to paint a picture with words, One that is mine and yours yet it is what each of us makes, A painting that changes to fit the viewer's eye, Maybe you'll see this picture of a forgotten land and think of war, Or maybe you'll think it was simply washed away by time.    Perhaps I could tell you the story of the kind old man, I would watch as the face of the old man changes from person to person, As does his voice, even the very air around him could change, While I told you all of how the kind old man helped the weary traveler, I could see as each person thinks of a different reason for the old man to help.    Perh

I rest my eyes by staring at the shadows, But when it shines, how can I resist staring at the sun?

                            To the girl:     I'm sorry if my voice was bitter when you left, The only reason it sounded like that was because, I could see every bit of colour fade from the air, It was because everything that once was full... Is now bare.                            To the reader:    I'm sorry my soul has been absent as of late, My blood is without vigor, so my pen is without ink, I'm sorry you are forced to listen to this dreary fable, I can not think nor can I write, I simply... Am not able.                            To myself:    I don't entirely understand why I'm apologizing to you, I have every right to do with

I could write about the beauty of the girl who stole my heart, But there would be no point, Because no matter how many suns set, No matter how many seasons pass, Even if I could write until eternity ends, Words will never be enough for the beauty of the girl who stole my heart.

Watching your broken heart made me suffer, Then watching you break mine to escape your anger Made me smile, a very broken smile, Now you cut me open and stole the stars from the sky. I thought back to when you sewed my wounds shut, To when you painted the midnight sky with a glowing love, Back when you said to me wonderful things that I hoped were true, Now I know they could never be. It was you who made me believe that not all love causes pain, You were the one person who did not make me shake When you gave me your warmth to keep, Now my hands are always shaking as they search for something that is gone. I was afraid to tell you I cared,

Perhaps I could write another half-truth poem, In a vain attempt to express my emotions, However I see no point in attempting this for I know this; I will search for eternity and no words will succeed. Perhaps I could sing another half-sung lament, With desperate hope that someone might hear me, But there would be no fruits for my labors, Because even my raw emotion will not be heard. Perhaps I could stay in my room and speak half-spoken nothings, Escape into the wonders of a world told by books, Listen as the words on the page whisper to me, And just maybe you might be able to hear my deafening silence. Perhaps if I am still as a half-bro

There's another world within my city, Where people cry and sleep on stone, They scavenge and beg for food and water, But in the end they always die alone. I think once they were just like me, They didn't deserve to end up like this, But now they're oppressed and I'm free, It was taken out of their hands it wasn't their choice. However, it was their life that was stolen, In the blink of an eye they lost everything, Most can hear that old, rotting bell tollin', For now they sleep broken, and on the streets. They rolled the dice, and got snake eyes, We hardly feel anything towards them but pity, As we pass them by and they silently watch, I h