Video Originally produced for Leptirela's hub
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Why I Love poetry?
| Poetry is one of my fave hobbies, I have been writing since 2004 and poetry has been a life saver.
I say this because things happen to us in life that throw us back and we have to find our way forward, poetry kept me sane, there is of course praying but poetry seemed have me feeling better after just a few words. I have heard it being said many times that poetry is just for the weak hearted, poetry can't make money , poetry is just poetry. I, like many other poets am not writing for the money perhaps some people are but I don't know anybody in the whole of the U.K who makes money on just poetry? Poetry is an art , full of senses, full of co lour and mood changing results, sometimes even life-changing. I have many poems unpublished, I am sort of half way through my book, when I say half way I mean I am still working on it ..It takes craftsmanship to write a good book and I admit It will take time and am all ready for it, in the mean time poetry is like short exercises when I get ill - ill meaning a 'writer's block' I bet no one thought this was serious, I understand but every writer I have come across admitted having a block now and then so I play and fish for inspiration within my poetry which probably explains why most if is DARK . I have published many pieces of my writing on HubPages. The place I call second-home, it is so so comforting. I would like to thank everyone , my thinkers-alike and followers on Hubs and other poets writer who have morally supported me throught this, Thank you for the inspiration and wisdom, most importantly for believing in me and helping me plant seeds of my poetry . |
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Whilst you sleep deep in my veins, my soul is playing games, I don't love you..
Your hand in my palm, manly but warm, increasing the flutter in my stomach; I don't love you.
Your soft breathing is hushing the silence of your room, a cold night, I'm still warm from the last time you touched me; Its boiling up the anger inside me, as your making me lie when I DO love you...
So say goodbye, leave me a sign. Leave your footprints in the snow, leave a raindrop on my lips, touch me through the air with your fingertips, but leave a sign.
On a road of no signs in the yellow nights, surrended to the lights we once followed you'll know I won't be coming back. With the fireworks blazing in November, nights of fire and the first snowflakes that alert you of winter, you'll know I wont be coming back.
................Through your window you'll see a star * and feel me, but I wont be coming back, you'll surrender to a new hope and a new day and you'll remember am just like you feeling the emptiness elsewhere.
Through a day of a lit cigarette I part with your footprints, my eyes frozen on the leaves on my path through shivering breezes in my veins I see a faraway sunrise, and remember how I yearn your smile, as desert does the rain.
I return the smile back to the sky, so my cigarette light brightens the stars through the day that leaves three words at the tip of the tongue, unspoken truly.
..........Forever stays in me, a stranger, like a souvenir of all dates; Missed, last and half full trains. Its not nostalgic yet a shame that someone holds my heart in the palm of their hand, in a town I was cold ,where I needed to grow old.
The home that died on a window, the voices of friends last heard, an empty suitcase calling like a bad habit onto a journey, unknown.
I part with your footprints, emptiness inside, knowing that the dreams of departing towards the north are just dreams. A faraway sunshine call upon my departure towards the cold north where once i felt the warmest. Maybe its in his cold fingers why I love the surface and why I'm dreaming the real, the untold is in the season, each one tells all, and when all becomes over----- then over is a start.
Whilst you sleep deep in my veins, my soul is playing games, I don't love you..
Your hand in my palm, manly but warm, increasing the flutter in my stomach; I don't love you.
Your soft breathing is hushing the silence of your room, a cold night, I'm still warm from the last time you touched me; Its boiling up the anger inside me, as your making me lie when I DO love you...
So say goodbye, leave me a sign. Leave your footprints in the snow, leave a raindrop on my lips, touch me through the air with your fingertips, but leave a sign.
On a road of no signs in the yellow nights, surrended to the lights we once followed you'll know I won't be coming back. With the fireworks blazing in November, nights of fire and the first snowflakes that alert you of winter, you'll know I wont be coming back.
................Through your window you'll see a star * and feel me, but I wont be coming back, you'll surrender to a new hope and a new day and you'll remember am just like you feeling the emptiness elsewhere.
Through a day of a lit cigarette I part with your footprints, my eyes frozen on the leaves on my path through shivering breezes in my veins I see a faraway sunrise, and remember how I yearn your smile, as desert does the rain.
I return the smile back to the sky, so my cigarette light brightens the stars through the day that leaves three words at the tip of the tongue, unspoken truly.
..........Forever stays in me, a stranger, like a souvenir of all dates; Missed, last and half full trains. Its not nostalgic yet a shame that someone holds my heart in the palm of their hand, in a town I was cold ,where I needed to grow old.
The home that died on a window, the voices of friends last heard, an empty suitcase calling like a bad habit onto a journey, unknown.
I part with your footprints, emptiness inside, knowing that the dreams of departing towards the north are just dreams. A faraway sunshine call upon my departure towards the cold north where once i felt the warmest. Maybe its in his cold fingers why I love the surface and why I'm dreaming the real, the untold is in the season, each one tells all, and when all becomes over----- then over is a start.
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Ink runs from the corners of my mouth
| mY
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