Post by McGonagallsGirl on Jan 16, 2007 18:07:38 GMT -5
I'm submitting one of these poems for competition in a few days time, and I was wondering if you all would read them and advise me as to which one I should submit.
Only time for contemplation
Almost always love has fled the grasps of my imagination.
Seeking Love, the why and how, seeking any explanation.
Life can give one many things, a dream and then a realization.
But life has yet to give me love, only time for contemplation.
Hearts that beat as one beneath the bosom of the bottom dwellers.
Souls that seek each other out among the rich, the Rockefellers.
Springs eternal in the young, so say the older Storytellers.
Where is love for me, I query to the Fates and Magic Spellers.
I ask the Gods, I ask the earth, I ask the stars, and all of space.
I beg them all to give him birth, I beg them to reveal his face.
I long to feel his tender touch, to feel our fingers interlace.
I wonder, it will take how much to coax him from his hiding place?
And Aphrodite knows the secret, so do people everywhere.
You'll find tales of love that live along the journey, here and there.
What can I conclude from being forced to live so long, so bare?
I was never meant to love, and lovelessness leads to despair.
I have yet to tell my heart
He is buried in the earth, buried in the ground.
He grows colder every moment, every little sound.
I pulled my hair in anguish when I learned he was no more.
Similar to when I sobbed because there was no cure.
His family was notified, and I phoned all his friends.
I often wonder if they fought, and if so, made amends.
I told the pictures on the wall, the lonely sheets upon my bed.
But I have yet to tell my heart that my true love is gone and dead.
When morning comes
When morning comes I greet the sun with shy, begrudging eyes.
I miss my dreams and pillow soft, with no need for the lies.
When morning comes I greet the day as if it never left.
I rise from bed and contemplate the humans and their best.
When morning comes I greet the world with worried, fearful heart,
But thank the Lord the morning came, that it saw fit to start.
I pray the sun, try to awake--
me that mourn I do not rise.
Or beg the world alert my stories,
of my overnight demise.
Only time for contemplation
Almost always love has fled the grasps of my imagination.
Seeking Love, the why and how, seeking any explanation.
Life can give one many things, a dream and then a realization.
But life has yet to give me love, only time for contemplation.
Hearts that beat as one beneath the bosom of the bottom dwellers.
Souls that seek each other out among the rich, the Rockefellers.
Springs eternal in the young, so say the older Storytellers.
Where is love for me, I query to the Fates and Magic Spellers.
I ask the Gods, I ask the earth, I ask the stars, and all of space.
I beg them all to give him birth, I beg them to reveal his face.
I long to feel his tender touch, to feel our fingers interlace.
I wonder, it will take how much to coax him from his hiding place?
And Aphrodite knows the secret, so do people everywhere.
You'll find tales of love that live along the journey, here and there.
What can I conclude from being forced to live so long, so bare?
I was never meant to love, and lovelessness leads to despair.
I have yet to tell my heart
He is buried in the earth, buried in the ground.
He grows colder every moment, every little sound.
I pulled my hair in anguish when I learned he was no more.
Similar to when I sobbed because there was no cure.
His family was notified, and I phoned all his friends.
I often wonder if they fought, and if so, made amends.
I told the pictures on the wall, the lonely sheets upon my bed.
But I have yet to tell my heart that my true love is gone and dead.
When morning comes
When morning comes I greet the sun with shy, begrudging eyes.
I miss my dreams and pillow soft, with no need for the lies.
When morning comes I greet the day as if it never left.
I rise from bed and contemplate the humans and their best.
When morning comes I greet the world with worried, fearful heart,
But thank the Lord the morning came, that it saw fit to start.
I pray the sun, try to awake--
me that mourn I do not rise.
Or beg the world alert my stories,
of my overnight demise.
