๋࣭ why stop now / chase atlantic
i'm caught up in my self loathe
mitchel where's your cell phone? write this down
Every day, I imagine a future where I can be with you
In my hand is a pen that will write a poem of me and you
The ink flows down into a dark puddle Just move your hand – write the way into his heart!
But in this world of infinite choices
What will it take just to find that special day?
Hangi tür kitapları seviyorsun?
🔎 Polisiye
💕 Romantik
🚀 Bilim Kurgu
🏰 Fantastik
📖 Klasik
🧠 Kişisel Gelişim
🏛️ Tarih
😱 Gerilim
Şiir Koleksiyonumdan #1Şiir
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever since, it grew more clean and white,
Slow to world-greetings, quick with its "Oh, list,"
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight,
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!
That was the chrism of love, which love’s own crown,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third upon my lips was folded down
In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,
I have been proud and said, "My love, my own."
This is the obsequious politician
Flattering you
You never believe him
Never. The eminence of philosophy
So crenellated, so terraced pronouncing
The name of your dance: Down with the tyrant!
That is the gesture and the name: Down with the tyrant
Down with his exaggerated thunder
You wanna talk psychosis?
Down with the tyrant
Daggers...hysterical puritans...starved animals
You wanna? You wanna? You want to talk?
You want to write?
This is the writing dance, written
for all to see
the whole picture of the decimated site, the picture
of charnel ground.. .the jackals came... .& the jackals came
sift, sift through the body parts
sift... sift...
The Ruins of Bam
Garous Abdolmalekian
The window is black
the table, black
the sky, black
the snow, black
You’re mistaken!
I don’t need medicine
or a psychotherapist.
Just lift these stones,
sweep aside the earth
and look into my eyes!
My eyes
that are round like the Earth
an image of the world
the world of shut doors
of countless walls
anytime I stand before the mirror
the image of an upside-down tortoise
makes me long for a passer-by
to arrive and invert the world
Some night
our hands will tremble from all this solitude
and our depiction on the canvas
will be scribbled out