What? please... :oQuote:
i THOUGHT i'd post one of my new pieces, but it's not HA friendly.
Post whatever you like Alyssa...
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What? please... :oQuote:
i THOUGHT i'd post one of my new pieces, but it's not HA friendly.
Post whatever you like Alyssa...
Well i'm afraid its a bit cheesy and idealistic.
I hesitated to post this one because I dread to think of the types of responses
i could get from men on this site who think shemales are for sex only.
But the heart wants what it wants...
(Again i'm not looking to be pulished or to perform. So I do not require criticism.
These are personal writings that i have shared for the sake of this fantastic thread.
Thank you again Mia.)
Tormented Soul Mate
There’s an indistinct vision of him in my conscious mind.
He’s hurting. and frail on the inside.
He’s an artist in his own right because of his take on the world.
His thoughts are poetry. Propaganda unfurled.
He struggles with connecting as I do. But he makes his way about.
Not faulting friends and family for not quite figuring him out.
He resides in his mind. Contemplating- every… fucking… thing.
But it’s what he knows as normal, and not at all tiring.
I’m not sure of his life outside of this. But I know he remains unchanged.
He’s known only in small fractions. Most of him truly- is estranged.
When he comes across my pathway, and yes he certainly will.
He’ll be awestruck that I know him. His surroundings grow eerily still.
Somehow he’ll know I feel empathy, with one extended gaze.
Like he has never experienced in all his lonely days.
Through a process unbeknownst to me, he will tightly grab hold.
Finding comfort in my understanding, feeling totally consoled.
He’ll lean on me, and need my love, and will surely reciprocate.
No conditions or egos involved at all. I’ll really be his soul mate.
That's a beautiful poem, Alyssa. It's a true love poem, subtle and generous. It's like one long loving breath.
That was true for me reading it.Quote:
His surroundings grow eerily still.
Thank you for posting it.
you are very welcome.
im glad u liked it.
i'd like to read more people....
Wow it's amazing how a thread like this can inspire me to go back and look through all the poems I've written through the years and even be amazed with myself like "Whoa when did I write this" LOL!
youre good.
id like to read something newer
HEARTS OF BEAUTY
The heart our great marvel
The might inside, its pure beauty
Though we hide from the world, I doubt it not, never
My trust, my faith is in hearts
For they are creations of a God somewhere
Its the relationship I need, religion is just not me
The beauty of a true heart
The good the bad and everything, why its so loving
For the vulnerable person underneath is worth so much love
Their weakness is part of who they are
Their strength is only a shard of beauty, part of the whole
Take every shard of the being to see the divine core, the beings we ignore even in ourselves
There is no need to hide from me
I hold no damnation in my heart, be yourself
The beauty is alive, its a whole that is unreplaceable
I give my heart with unlimited compassion and love
To take suffering of others onto me, its foolish yet this is me
I swim in the sea and won't drown any time soon for the hearts heal me in return
Its so tiring, it can take away my energy
There is nothing that will stop me though, No reason to quit
My gift from my heart is to give joy and understanding, for I won't play the part of an ass
Tell me when you look into the dark of others hearts, what do you say?
Do you say of how its too hard and you must run? Of its not worth it to love someone who has faults
Not every heart is pure but every heart deseveres to be loves the same no damnation from us to those who are alive
I look into the dark and call
" I love the one in question, there is no damnation.
I see the beauty beyond the faults, so what they are not perfect beings, nor am I so how can I banish them?"
The heart is a marvel, its beautiful
We all have purity and love, we just forget it as we go on
And the only reason to stop loving humanity is being dead, which we shouldn't just forget the dead
I love, Life, My Darling, My mother, My Brother, My kin
Each has their faults, but that doesn't change a thing, we are alive!
Tell me to stop loving, and I'll tell you to start, this is my life, so why should I stop loving endlessly if you won't start?
Never Ending Darkness
My life at its fullest
its never all that great
theres a dark tunnel behind me
and a dim light to awake
going back is a big mistake
& forward has lots of turns
hills & ditches,you wanting to give in
it makes life harder to deal
agony
laying on the ground griping at pain
crying & your too weak to get back up
weakness
your body is achy,your mind dizzy
you cant think straight
the next thing you know,your awake
quickly scrammbling to your feet
& it all comes back to you
Your body starts moving, you're running
racing down the dark of the tunnel
Finding your way out,your determined
but you run forever,& you start 2 lose hope
it isn't going to end...
Quote:
Originally Posted by SexChangeTranny.com
we rarely consider the feelings of those who have wronged us or seem to be emotionally withholding or defective.
and we certainly dont attempt to celebrate them or love them despite their seemingly closed or cold hearts in poetry.
thank you!
i love that Danielle.. with all my heart of beauty
This isn't mine, in fact it's shamelessly stolen from Welsh WWI Poet Wilfred Owen, who's probably my favourite.
Featured
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!–An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,–
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.