Hope
The greenlight at
the end of the bay.
The sunflower tracing
the path of the sun.
The promise that
each new sunrise is
a new beginning.
The kiss of life,
the anesthetic of death.
Never dying.
Always evolving.
The greenlight at
the end of the bay.
The sunflower tracing
the path of the sun.
The promise that
each new sunrise is
a new beginning.
The kiss of life,
the anesthetic of death.
Never dying.
Always evolving.
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain
Before high piled books in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love; - then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
What beauty your uniform keys possess
as I type out my heart with
that sleek rhythm.
Every movement of the carriage
cements my words in place.
I lose myself to my
imagination.
Ding!
Reality.
Zzzzip.
The next line, I lose
myself once more.
The click, click, click of your
keys become the soundtrack
to my words.
I dream about your keyboard
and my fingers caressing your letters
What wonderful beauty
you hold in your
mechanical body.
What love you retain
in your metallic parts.
You are part of me
as I am part of you.
When I type, we become
one.
Typewriter and poet making
art as a single being.
The “A”
What do they see in her that they don't see in me?
How can I compete with the popularity of a painted face?
Why is it that the person who shows their true self
the one who is never noticed?
Yet, the ones who hide behind multiple personalities
are the most loved by their peers?
Why can't my words be "delicious" too?
Why can't people praise me the way they praise her? I feel like I have to shout just to be heard...
Like I have to jump just to be seen...
Like I have to change just to fit in.
He reaches out to
the green light at end of the bay,
his arm trembling a little,
his dark silhouette showing no emotion
save for his hand.
I reach out to
the wall in my room,
my hand trembling a little,
my emotions are clear
written by the tears on my face.
One could say that Gatsby and I
are one in the same.
One could say that we’re not.
Both Gatsby and I are driven
by our hope.
We cling on to that last remaining bit of it
for the sake of our dreams.
For Gatsby it’s Daisy and the American Dream
for me it’s my career and the need to be loved.
They hurt us with their words
and hurt us more with their lack thereof.
We try to fit into their way of life,
but we both know it’s not what we really want.
Yes, you could say that Gatsby and I
are the same, but there’s one thing
that makes us different.
Gatsby died with hope still in him
he never gave up on anything.
I fear that I will die without hope,
my optimism shattered by their rules.
For I am a dreamer
With dreams that
Span the entire Earth.
Call me the dreamer
With impossible dreams,
But call me a failure
For I am that too.
I have not
Lived a long life,
Nor have I
Lived a good one.
Call me honest,
Call me kind,
I do not believe it
To be true.
For I am a human,
With a human heart.
For I am a human,
With human emotions.
I have made mistakes
And I have learnt,
But through it all
I was true.
True to myself
And true to my faith.
Call me invisible
For that is the truth.
Call me forgettable
For I am forgotten.
A quiet whisper in a
Never ending storm.
A small light
Blinking out in the dark.
Call me a dreamer
With impossible dreams.
For I was the dreamer
With hope in my heart
And a fire in my soul.
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