The Pushing Spring

Around in a daze,
In a circle, I spin,
I do craze only one thing.

I feel emotions, sensitivity,
I feel affection, attraction,
A following string, a clean kind of spring.

The water is cool,
Refreshing to drink,
Oh how you do push me to think.

I gather my thoughts and try my best,
Here this day, I try to rest.
Again and again,
I try to resist, with the feeling your pushing,
I cant resist.

You send me that rose,
You buy me the ring,
You await the calling,
The announcement of one thing.

My voice is quite, I try to hide,
I try to deny,
This very thing,
But with that push,
You do insist,
How can a girl truly resist.

Words to Speak

Blankness, nothing,
No writing comes to mind,
I hear the words forming,
Retreating in my head.

I have some flicker for all to see,
The pages are getting closer to me.
I try to pick the pen up in my near sight,
I dont wish to make fight.

I know the chance of this, here to be,
Nothing will ever measure up to thee.
I hear the sweet nothings that are whispered to me,
I try my best to avoid,
Run out of this here town,
Only to come home, where my heart,
Has now been thrown.

I have many words to speak,
I try my best to retreat,
I read through articles,
Through the lines,
I try my best to,
Make no crime.

Sweet Whispers

The love hidden between the lines,
The hurt, the pain sometimes,
The moonlight,
The stars,
The touch and the kiss.

The sweet whispers of it all,
The flowers, the perfume,
The the dress and the zip,
The field and the daisy
where we use to skip.

The house, the baby,
The romance of it all,
The mess, the shoes,
The mud and the strew,
From the bunny rabbit galore.

Here we go, out of the dream,
Home sweet home isn't it Just,
No room for perfume no more,
Just the smell of the cleaned floor.

Shut It Out

Shut it out, shut it out,
I don't like what I read,
Ignore it, bury it,
It doesn't exist.

Its not there, its not true,
I don't care,
I always get, what I want,
I never except the answer no.
I don't believe that word exists.

Carry on, on that steep path,
I will not stop,
I have no limits,
I don't know the meaning of it.

I will not listen, I have one creed,
And that is, I believe in the power of me.

Fair Tale

The moon was shinning over the boat,
I sat and waited, wishing,
To meet the man of my dreams,
I did see a handsome man standing over me.
He did kiss my hand.

I looked up into his deep brown eyes,
How grand did he seem,
He swept me from my feet,
He wisps me away,
To the place of castles and dreams.

The land was that of fair tales,
So bold was I to live,
I have the white horse,
The stallion,
The prince, palace and the dream.

I was told I had to be the queen of country,
I wore the dress of gold and had a great army,
Ready to battle next to me.
I sat on my throne with my golden crown,
Watching the jester messing around.

I had a great table of food,
The palace was full,
But one thing I started to lack most of all,
Was the company of the King,
This started to be unlike the woman's dream.

He spent more nights away,
He was mostly at play,
I thought of the dream,
I had once, of having it all.

It has became rusted,
Old and brittle, no love here at all,
So I ran my horse over the hills,
Away, far away, to the shore of freedom,
I left that day.

Life On The Edge

Many have walked the wire,
Never knowing if they would return.
At battle with themselves,
Looking for the blame.

I have seen sad of truth,
Where is the happiness.
No youth, no spring step,
No courage coming forth.

Now we see people stepping away,
No hands is it they hold,
How can we ever repair, if we don't fold,
Even a little will do,
Just to know, that yes we care.

We are not so bold, as to think we can not share,
So path this path with gentle ease and feel our friendly breeze.
No matter how old the history of life it is,
Only take this with please.

The Old Town

The old town,
Where there was fields and horses,
The grass was green with river banks,
The children did once swim.

Along the riverbank,
Along the stream,
Down the path,
Down to the old green.

We seated on the pasture,
With our picnic baskets,
Watching the birds of song,
How we used to sing along.

The time of play, romance,
It was strong, Passion did run along.
Along that old riverbank,
Along that old stream,
Along the path,
Down to the old green.

The house of my gran,
The house of the twins,
The house where it did snow, and where we did swim.

The tree and the apples,
The hive and the bees,
The birds and the songs,
We all did sing along.

We did eat of the sweet honey due,
We did drink from milk,
We did run along the old riverbank,
We did see the sky of blue,
We did know the freedom, Yes it is true.

But now I am here,
These days' have past,
I have the freedom of this past,
I wish I could share it with the rest of the class.

The English Rose

When walking through my garden,
I did find this English Rose,
Smelling so sweet,
The scent was lifted from the gentle breeze.

I walked through my garden,
Holding this wild rose,
smelling her sweet scent,
as I did go.

I passed by many flowers,
Of that particular day,
And I have walked passed many flowers,
In the time that has gone astray.

But this flower I remember,
That very day, how sweet smelling she was,
I can never say.

I draw my attention to this one day,
The Rose herself did last,
But like all things did fade,
But that very day, I did see
A love so tender, mild and gentle,
A love so close to me.

I will never forget her,
The gentle breeze,
The red of her colour,
And the smell of her creed.

She will always be at one with me.

The Poets Dream

Who said I was yours,
Who said you was mine.
The tale of two cities'
Are we two of a kind ?

We meet in the middle,
Neither here nor there.
How can this be surly fair?

You are one side,
I am the other.
The language is the key,
The words, are they from me ?

Many watch in wonder,
None does truly see,
set in the silk of a meek world,
Where do they all ponder.

No trees to be seen,
From the poets dreams.

A world of slumber,
In that of a dream.
Sleeping is the number,
Of the poet to be seen.

Send Me Inspiration

Give me something to write,
Send me inspiration.
For words seem lost,
No provocation.

We sit here, most of us,
Waiting and watching.
Until we turn to dust,
Who is it that hears us.

I am here and you sit there,
No one does truly care.
Where do you think the time does go,
Truly it is buried in our sorrow.

Love is never fair no matter,
The passion makes its strong.
But it always stirs somewhere,
The mist clears and comes back again,
So where does it end.