I have been writing since I was 12. My real mother was also a poet I found out years later. I write to express my feeling and emotions. I am terrible with the spoken word, but a pen in my hand I know I can say anything and go on any adventure |
I lay upon this shelter floor, its my last night
I know for sure...
Im sitting at this desk in another place and time...
way back I can not find...
Eyes so vibrant and full of life, can also
be dull and full of strife...
My foot steps echo through these hallowed...
empty halls...
Dreams dance elegantly upon the silver
moon beams that tumble over her window...
He stalks his meal concealed within the shadows of...
It was late and she was nervous so with her he...
As I fall into a peacful slumber, I take
a magical journy in my dreams...
He walks out the door with his bag in hand, saying...
you be back as soon as I can...
His eyes are captivating and steadily pull
me in...
As I have grown older, I try to think of the
reasons she walked away...