Poems-and-More

She has a face of a angle, ture and pure. Eyes that shine like northern lights. A head of curly brown hair, spinning and weaving. A smile that stops me. I was falling in love, a pit with no end. I was falling, but she caught me.

  "Who... who are you?" i stammered. I was surly a dead man walking now. He simply cocked the gun. I finished the drink, thinking it was my last, then stood. He wore a black leather jacket, black shoes, and jeans. He had a sturdy apperance, and built strong. He... I couldn't put my finger on it, but I knew he wasn't human.  I looked at the bartender, who ducked under the bar. I was scared, but i tryed not to show much of it. "Who are you, and why are you here?" I asked a little more demanding this time.  "You're a hunter, my friend, with a bad case of memory loss. I have been sent here to kill you. You see..." then a sound filled the room

  I sat on a stool in a broken down bar. A warm fire burned, and the cup of wisky sat infront of me. It warmed me against the outside snow. I sat, questioning myself. Who am I? Where am I? So many questions that need answers.  I sat, drinking, thinking, when person opened the door. A chilly wind blew in, and the fire falltered. The man walked  twords me, took out a gun, and pointed it at me.

Winter songs bring soft snow, kisses under the mistoe. A soft blanket of a breeze, full of lovers, and cold seas. Sunlight shortens day by day, no more kids go out to play. People cuddle by the fire, ordiments hang on wite. Shards of icey points, force people to coffee joints. Winter lovers lit bright, under soft moon light, tonight.

A rushing river flow, a willow tree blows, a place no one knows, called dream land. A small ocean reef, a slow floting leaf, all is at peace, in dream land. A gental breeze, all made to ease, yet no one sees, dream land. Some day you will go, to a place with soft snow, where lushes grass grows, called dream land.

  He is nice, a joking sort. The laugh of the family, but also the poor.  She is kind, a angle sent down. She is sad on the inside, but always heartbound.  A man big and strong, holding his own, stressed at times, but loved at home.  She is a heart, holding you tight. Work overload, but for us she will fight.  She is a artest, with magic hands, a loner at home, but never with friends.  He is a big in a small, love of minecraft. All the time loud, and his mind on a raft.(Loco, crazy)  He is a gamer at heart, and poems he writes. A self cofident sort, and loves the night.  We are fighting at times, but

The brittle sheen of cold grey stone, The snap that broke sweet Melody's bone, The three that saw the stars and beyond, The final farewell, that last "Come along Pond." The Weeping Angels took the city that never slept, But Steven Moffat took our hearts, and Arthur laughed while we wept. The two lovers that whispered; "Together, or not at all." A fandom's unanimous cry as we watched them fall. With the final page forced to turn, the Pond's story ends, Stony hands worked to tear apart the lonely god and his friends. No more of the Last Centurion, or the Girl Who Waited, As the Raggedy Man said, once the future was read it was fated.

Over time I have learned to listen to the lonely voices, Almost as often as I've made some very, very stupid choices. I've felt weighed down by sheer number of secrets kept, And an inability to comfort them all while they've wept. I've pointlessly shunned my own imperfect advice, I'm gone from kind, to a bastard and right back to nice. Friends I've both made and lost, leaving bitter pain in my heart, Watched people slip away, I've felt us all drift apart. To the one I once loved I am sorry, as I know things shall never be quite the same. There were too many lies, too much anger, always with betrayals and cold pain. Friendship is har

Sleep little butterfly, rest your wings. You have flown long, and have seen many things. Yesterday you were gliding on the wind, to day you shall sleep and leave your kin. Sorrow shall pass, but all hope shouldn't part. The butterfly is still here, deep down in our hearts. 10/27/12 2:56am

A ruby orb that glows in a room of darkness, where few lights glow. A rose of red in a feild of yellow dasies. A box of chocolets never opened. She is my dream girl, just beond my reach. She lies just beond the reach of life, yet is alive as any. She is a dream, yet to be made real.