Poems

A Heart

A heart is a fragile thing

Delicate and dainty as a butterfly's wing

Easily breakable

But easily makeable

Easy to put together

And easy to mend it forever

It only takes one to mend a heart

And one to break it apart

♥

Forgive Me

I always loved you

You knew it was true

Because my heart belonged to you

A heart as fragile as mine

Broken as our hands intertwine

I make my way to you in time

To tell you I'm gone

Forgive me because I felt your alone

Or don't, I don't care

Because you were never there

♥

Forgive and Forget

You made my heart ache

From the lies that you made

The way you played me like a violin

Just another deadly sin

How you're just another nightmare

So please go far from here

And never come back

♥

Sweet Sensation

Your sweet kiss right against my lips

Your sweet heart

I can feel against my chest

Your sweet sensation

Of the way we've missed

♥

To Be Beautiful

What is it like to be beautiful

What does it mean to have beauty

What is it to be pretty

What is beauty

To be beautiful would be a dream

But dreams aren't always as they seem

♥

Kiss Me

Keep my heart as pure as intrentions may be

Hold your breath and count to three

Then take a look and see me

Lean in close and kiss me warmly

Cause you, I think of fondly

Share the death and pain with me

Curiously wondering what will be

Stop asking questions and make move

Before me, you'll always lose

♥

Skies Crying

Death falls upon your soul as you gasp for your last breath

And you hold yourself up as the water rushes over, as it's not finished yet

When you realize the clouds are gone, you wonder why it rains

The skies continue on, and you feel absolute pain

Carry on as you feel a deep wrath coming from a dead heart

Carry on as our love was always doomed from the start

Maybe surrender will make you feel peace

Maybe death will make you feel free

Justify truth from false

Because honestly, I'm through with it all

Make a move and stand in checkmate

Because that must be your place

And you think it's still raining, not even close

So tell me what you miss the most

Of how much the world ever made sense of the way you played

Of a sense that ever made it's way

But let me tell you, it's doesn't rain

Because skies feel pain

And baby, I'm not going to lie

Because yes, skies do cry

♥

Note: These next poems are all by William Shakespeare. How do you know? They will have a number instead of a name.

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
♥

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a tattered weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse'
Proving his beauty by succession thine.
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
♥

Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest,
Now is the time that face should form another,
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb,
Of his self-love to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime,
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live remembered not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.
♥

Unthrifty loveliness why dost thou spend,
Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free:
Then beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse,
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thy self alone,
Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive,
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which used lives th' executor to be.
♥

Those hours that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell
Will play the tyrants to the very same,
And that unfair which fairly doth excel:
For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter and confounds him there,
Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where:
Then were not summer's distillation left
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.
But flowers distilled though they with winter meet,
Leese but their show, their substance still lives sweet.
♥

130

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun,
Coral is far more red, than her lips red,
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun:
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head:
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes is there more delight,
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet by heaven I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.
♥

134

So now I have confessed that he is thine,
And I my self am mortgaged to thy will,
My self I'll forfeit, so that other mine,
Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still:
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
For thou art covetous, and he is kind,
He learned but surety-like to write for me,
Under that bond that him as fist doth bind.
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,
Thou usurer that put'st forth all to use,
And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake,
So him I lose through my unkind abuse.
Him have I lost, thou hast both him and me,
He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.
♥

148

O me! what eyes hath love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight,
Or if they have, where is my judgment fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright?
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then love doth well denote,
Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no,
How can it? O how can love's eye be true,
That is so vexed with watching and with tears?
No marvel then though I mistake my view,
The sun it self sees not, till heaven clears.
O cunning love, with tears thou keep'st me blind,
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.
♥

153

Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep,
A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground:
Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love,
A dateless lively heat still to endure,
And grew a seeting bath which yet men prove,
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure:
But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast,
I sick withal the help of bath desired,
And thither hied a sad distempered guest.
But found no cure, the bath for my help lies,
Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes.
♥

154

The little Love-god lying once asleep,
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep,
Came tripping by, but in her maiden hand,
The fairest votary took up that fire,
Which many legions of true hearts had warmed,
And so the general of hot desire,
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarmed.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy,
For men discased, but I my mistress' thrall,
Came there for cure and this by that I prove,
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
♥

Note: These next poems are by Robert Frost...He's awesome.

A Dream Pang

I had withdrawn in forest, and my song Was swallowed up in leaves that blew alway; And to the forest edge you came one day (This was my dream) and looked and pondered long, But did not enter, though the wish was strong: You shook your pensive head as who should say, 'I dare not--too far in his footsteps stray-- He must seek me would he undo the wrong. Not far, but near, I stood and saw it all Behind low boughs the trees let down outside; And the sweet pang it cost me not to call And tell you that I saw does still abide. But 'tis not true that thus I dwelt aloof, For the wood wakes, and you are here for proof.

♥

A Patch Of Old Snow

There's a patch of old snow in a corner That I should have guessed Was a blow-away paper the rain Had brought to rest. It is speckled with grime as if Small print overspread it, The news of a day I've forgotten-- If I ever read it.

♥

A Prayer In Spring

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today; And give us not to think so far away As the uncertain harvest; keep us here All simply in the springing of the year. Oh, gives us pleasure in the orchard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night; And make us happy in the happy bees, The swarm dilating round the perfect trees. And make us happing in the darting bird Tha suddenly above the bees is heard, The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill, And off a blossom in mid-air stands still. For this is love and nothing else is love, The which it is reversed for God above To sanctify to what far ends He will, But which it only needs that wee fulfill.

♥

"Out, Out - "

The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood, Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it. And from there those that lifted eyes could count Five mountain ranges one behing the other Under the sunset far into Vermont. And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled, As it ran light, or had to bear a load. And nothing happened: day was all but done. Call it a day, I wish they might have said To please the boy by giving him the half hour That a boy counts so much when saved from work. His sister stood beside him in her apron To tell them "Supper." At the word, the saw, As if it meant to prove saws know what supper meant, Leaped out at the boy's hand, or seemed to leap - He must have given the hand. However it was, Neither refused the meeting. But the hand! Half in appeal, but half as if to keep The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all - Since he was old enough to know, big boy Doing a man's work, though a child at heart - He saw all was spoiled. "Don't let him cut my hand off - The doctor, when he comes. Don't let him, sister!" So. The hand was gone already. The doctor put him in the dark of ether. He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath. And then - the watcher at his pulse took a fright. No one believed. They listened to his heart. Little - less - nothing! - and that ended it. No more to build on there. And they, since they Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.

♥

Fire And Ice

Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if I had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say thay for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.

♥

Ghost House

I Dwell in a lonely house I know That vanished many a summer ago, And left no trace but the cellar walls, And a cellar in which the daylight falls, And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow. O'er ruined fences the grape-vines shield The woods come back to the mowing field; The orchard tree has grown one copse Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops; The footpath down to the well is healed. I dwell with a strangely aching heart In that vanished abode there far apart On that disused and forgotten road That has no dust-bath now for the toad. Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart; The whippoorwill is coming to shout And hush and cluck and flutter about: I hear him begin far enough away Full many a time to say his say Before he arrives to say it out. It is under the small, dim, summer star. I know not who these mute folk are

♥

Come In

As I came to the edge of the woods, Thrush music -- hark! Now if it was dusk outside, Inside it was dark. Too dark in the woods for a bird By sleight of wing To better its perch for the night, Though it still could sing. The last of the light of the sun That had died in the west Still lived for one song more In a thrush's breast. Far in the pillared dark Thrush music went -- Almost like a call to come in To the dark and lament. But no, I was out for stars; I would not come in. I meant not even if asked; And I hadn't been.

♥

Death

Death is an easy thing

It's peaceful and fast

It puts your heart to rest

And makes you free at last

It frees you from the crimes

From the death

From the torture

But also from the best

From the person you love

From the people you adore

From the ones who free you

The ones who make you want more

Some people may think

That death is easy

But death isn't as easy

As it made seemingly

♥

Daddy's Day

Her hair up in a ponytail, her favorite dress tied with a bow

Today was Daddy’s Day at school, and she couldn’t wait to go

But her mommy tried to tell her, that she probably should stay home

Why the kids might not understand, if she went to school alone

But she was not afraid; she knew just what to say

What to tell her classmates, on this Daddy’s Day

But still her mother worried, for her to face this day alone

And that was why once again, she tried to keep her daughter home

But the little girl went to school, eager to tell them all

About a dad she never sees, a dad who never calls

There were daddies along the wall in back, for everyone to meet

Children squirming impatiently, anxious in their seats

One by one the teacher called, a student from the class

To introduce their daddy, as seconds slowly passed

At last the teacher called her name, every child turned to stare

Each of them were searching, for a man that wasn’t there

“Where’s her daddy at?” She heard a boy call out

“She probably doesn’t have one.” Another student dared to shout

And from somewhere near the back, she heard a daddy say

“Looks like another deadbeat dad, too busy to waste his day.”

The words did not offend her, as she smiled at her friends

And looked back at her teacher, who told her to begin

And with hands behind her back, slowly she began to speak

And out from the mouth of a child, came words incredibly unique

“My Daddy couldn’t be here, because he lives so far away

But I know he wishes he could be, with me on this day

And though you cannot meet him, I wanted you to know

All about my daddy, and how much he loves me so

He loved to tell me stories, he taught me to ride my bike

He surprised me with pink roses, and he taught me to fly a kite

We used to share fudge sundaes, and ice cream in a cone

And though you cannot see him, I’m not standing all alone

‘Cause my daddy’s always with me, even though we are apart

I know because he told me, he’ll forever be here in my heart”

With that her little hand reached up, and lay across her chest

Feeling her own heartbeat, beneath her favorite dress

And from somewhere in the crowd of dads, her mother stood in tears

Proudly watching her daughter, who was wise beyond her years

For she stood up for the love, of a man not in her life

Doing what was best for her, doing what was right

And when she dropped her hand back down, staring straight into the crowd

She finished with a voice so soft, but its message clear and loud

“I love my daddy very much, he’s my shining star

And if he could he’d be here, but heavens just too far

But sometimes when I close my eyes, it’s like he never went away”

And then she closed her eyes, and saw him there that day

And to her mother’s amazement, she witnessed with surprise

A room full of daddies and children, all starting to close their eyes

Who knows what they saw before them, who knows what they felt inside

Perhaps for merely a second, they saw him at her side

“I know you’re with me daddy.” To the silence she called out

And what happened next made believers, of those once filled with doubt

Not one in that room could explain it, for each of their eyes had been closed

But there placed on her desktop, was a beautiful fragrant pink rose

And a child was blessed, if only a moment, by the love of her shining bright star

And given the gift of believing, that heaven is never too far

♥

Midnight

As midnight crosses over the sky

You sing to me

Like a lullaby

You say

"With someone as lovely and temperate,

You are my midnight day"

You make my heart feel whole again

I give my love to you

So that I'll always remember when

I had a love so true

♥

Write It In Blood

You said that we would be Soul Sisters

From now on until the day we die

Until we'll be creamated together under a tree

Until we would go to Paris together

Be actresses

Be stars

But if you don't mind

Would you please

Write it in blood

♥

Dreams

Dreams do not always come true

But dreams aren't just for fools

Because call me stupid, but my dreams are unique

And they are as you unique as could be

As a fragrant red rose, that smells so sweet

I dreamed of a waistline, that is very petite

Of a moment in the stars

The ones that seem so far

Of a moment of wishing, that you were here

A place that isn't very near

Could it be that dreams don't mean anything

Are they really just meant for sleeping

Are dreams as realistic as a talking bear

Or a carrot eating, foolish hare

Of what I've seen in my short life

The things that would suffice

Of all the things I've ever longed for

The things I want and more

The desire of a red rose, or a heart that bleeds

That it makes dreams truly unique

But sometimes I feel I don't know anything

And that dreams are truly meant for sleeping

♥

When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment.
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment.
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky:
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory.
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay,
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful time debateth with decay
To change your day of youth to sullied night,
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.
♥

But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time?
And fortify your self in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens yet unset,
With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair
Which this (Time's pencil) or my pupil pen
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair
Can make you live your self in eyes of men.
To give away your self, keeps your self still,
And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill.
♥

Who will believe my verse in time to come
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts:
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say this poet lies,
Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.
So should my papers (yellowed with their age)
Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termed a poet's rage,
And stretched metre of an antique song.
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice in it, and in my rhyme.
♥

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
♥

100

Where art thou Muse that thou forget'st so long,
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Return forgetful Muse, and straight redeem,
In gentle numbers time so idly spent,
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem,
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If time have any wrinkle graven there,
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make time's spoils despised everywhere.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life,
So thou prevent'st his scythe, and crooked knife.
♥

106

When in the chronicle of wasted time,
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme,
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights,
Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have expressed,
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring,
And for they looked but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
♥

117

Accuse me thus, that I have scanted all,
Wherein I should your great deserts repay,
Forgot upon your dearest love to call,
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day,
That I have frequent been with unknown minds,
And given to time your own dear-purchased right,
That I have hoisted sail to all the winds
Which should transport me farthest from your sight.
Book both my wilfulness and errors down,
And on just proof surmise, accumulate,
Bring me within the level of your frown,
But shoot not at me in your wakened hate:
Since my appeal says I did strive to prove
The constancy and virtue of your love.
♥

120

That you were once unkind befriends me now,
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel,
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken
As I by yours, y'have passed a hell of time,
And I a tyrant have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.
O that our night of woe might have remembered
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me then tendered
The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee,
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.

♥

121

'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed,
When not to be, receives reproach of being,
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed,
Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.
For why should others' false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Which in their wills count bad what I think good?
No, I am that I am, and they that level
At my abuses, reckon up their own,
I may be straight though they themselves be bevel;
By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown
Unless this general evil they maintain,
All men are bad and in their badness reign.

126

O thou my lovely boy who in thy power,
Dost hold Time's fickle glass his fickle hour:
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st,
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st.
If Nature (sovereign mistress over wrack)
As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill.
Yet fear her O thou minion of her pleasure,
She may detain, but not still keep her treasure!
Her audit (though delayed) answered must be,
And her quietus is to render thee

♥

108

What's in the brain that ink may character,
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit,
What's new to speak, what now to register,
That may express my love, or thy dear merit?
Nothing sweet boy, but yet like prayers divine,
I must each day say o'er the very same,
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case,
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page,
Finding the first conceit of love there bred,
Where time and outward form would show it dead.

♥