Here is two of my most recent writings!. They are part I and part II!. It's pretty long to be a poem!.!.!.but would could they be!?!.!.!.and do they make any sense to anyone else other than me!? Or!.!.maybe can you find your own meanings in them!? !.!.!.or lol just let me know what you of them!
The Door: Forgotten
stumbling upwards lost feet and pride
stricken with light breaths, try
skin leaping not tearing into
smile closed, eyes open
art is all around but the reach is still unknown
focus on nothing!.
no touch will exceed the numbers that I fail
“I want to be a universe; I want to be the flame”
faltering again precision has no game
her touch was soft on that cold Door
but she wants everything and only
her difference made confusion of colors
sense was nothing
puzzles of herself, she was the queen
knowing was everything
falling apart or sticking together molds
"down I go through the rabbit whole"
one step in the air could have knocked her to her feet
yet her pride was unsettling
art is what has found her still
she wants only to nurse art, bring it up inside
confusion, of course, is part of the Doors lie
forgetting about the Door completely
is of little surprise
creatures of darkness made an arise
thoughts now pushed her back and pulled
how many winds did you hear!?
how many masks were shear!?
soft, hard, graceful, timid, tan
which description is my hand in!?
what hand is my description!?
hand in which description!?
description is my hand!.
art turns into numbers
The Door: Inhaling the Grasp
Deceiving Death was Her only option!.
Cold and torn, She ran towards the Door!.
Blankness all around, tightening at Her throat!.
Restriction of air came to no surprise,
Still, She panicked and tried to lean on the Door’s side
Occupying space was of no affliction!.
It was Her untamed heart that needed the Door’s attention!.
Light did not escape through the gap, yet She knew that it was there!.
Her grasp was merely a trap!.
Standing, She was not alone for the Door,
was her mirror and her escape!.
Opening the Door was the problem, broken hands conflicted Her fate!.
Hesitation restricted what limbs still functioned to be still!.
If only She could kill,
kill what’s inside, kill the protruding rot!.
With the wind pulsating through Her veins She grasped the warm brass knob,
twisting and turning, It opened not,
but with only the handle in Her hand,
She became alive again!.Www@QuestionHome@Com