With the moon at eye level
Eyes heavy and mood too loud
An unwelcome stranger
The night narrows
Eyes beging to peek
Swiftly she's out of sight
But the road is long
And so is the night
Yet rise will she once again
Soon before she begins to fall
A train ride ~ poet-whisperer
what is love and how am i to differentiate it from anything else? infatuation, admiration, adoration? it's all a blur, almost melding together and confuses the blind fuck out of me.
“I stayed up all night writing a song for you only to realize the next morning that I can’t sing.”
“Autumn leaves Cloud over as a breeze Of herbal flowers Waving, dancing Left and right Uniquely In what almost Seemed like A forest of pure gold.”
—
“A cycle of life That revolves and resolves itself By the continuous, repetitive and never-ending Recycle of history And only the evolution of a generation. How deluded are we to think that we are something special?”
— The cycle of life.
when the premiere of your movie is on the same night as your pajama party so you have to compromise
He isn’t even wearing shoes omg
Where can I get those pajamas?
“She has this thing about her A look in her eyes different then most. A view, a perspective Similar, yet unlike mine. And I was afraid. I was afraid to love. And not just love, but love her. She carried a sound of silence Deep inside that nobody else has, A calming embrace so strange and beautiful That it terrified me. I was afraid to choose her, I was afraid to lose her. Yet I never went after her. What hopes did I ever have? What hopes do I still do?”
—
It’s been a while since love #1
“-What the…. - Twice tomorrow the chanty banter Between nervous tourists and compounding temptation Unable to either justify nor awaken The common laughter of the creatures we are. Yet with closed eyes and sense of escapism We simply melt away with the music that played from a mundane existence That we all till now ignored As we wonder what is this eternal ethereal dissolute of a life. I wrote about the impossible The discovery of its existence The howling, the agony, the grieving, the feeling I wrote about the impossible The experiences of its discovery. Yet right now at this very moment I wonder. As I am lost in a frequency other then my own. What the fuck am I writing about right now?”
“I like doing nothing.”
—
No one cares @poet-whisperer
