Poetry Is When Your Heart Speaks,

“Eye contact is a dangerous, dangerous thing. But lovely. God, so lovely.”

— Hedonist Poet

Last night I prayed for you You, who let me swallow The stones you dropped A heart’s trail Leading fast to the edge

I prayed for you Who took my words, my sugar And sprinkled it over someone New, fresh faced and warmed By the fire I lit

I prayed for you To the only man in eternity Who has Loved all of me I sent Him to you with grace Because I am not you

I prayed for you But first, I prayed for myself And found my soul cannot rise When anchored to yours So in freeing myself

I must also free you Amen.

-(a.e.) // I prayed

Our minds are scattered all over space and time

I looked at you

And saw you

Looking at me

Eyes full of wonder

What could you have been thinking?

I thought about

Our world of wonders

And that there are more dead people than stars in the sky

But I still wish upon a star

Cause we come from stardust and we will return to the universe

As a star shining so bright

What could have I been thinking?

Your words, I contemplate on them

Like a lone sage in a silent pilgrimage

Feeling for the most minute

Movement of Spirit

Your words they compel me

To look up the night sky

And see not stars

But a whole new story

Of what Was, Is and Is To Come

A line age so ancient

My spirit falls down on its knees

In reverence to the stars

I looked at you

And I swear I saw galaxies in your eyes

Eyes full of stardust

The reflection of our universe

My mind can’t understand

The infinity of our galaxy

Yet this feels like a small infinity

I want this moment to last forever

So I wish upon a star

Hopefully my wish shoots up into the sky

To become one with the stardust surrounding us

James P. Onse & Lexi

My first magical poetry collaboration with @jamesponse here’s to more☄️✨

the hardest thing about poetry

is honesty.

how do i give words to the

interior of my soul

and then put it out for

the entire world to see?

knowing that there are

blurry faces i see everyday 

but don’t really talk to

who will remember my poems

the next time they look at

my face and think-

this is what she feels,

this is what she hides.

so, here is a confession 

as the new year is upon us:

much of what i write isn’t honest,

it isn’t me.

my poetry is not me.

if you want to find me,

if you seek what i hide,

look carefully in the spaces

between the words,

in the pauses and the hyphens.

search for me in the white in between

the black print, 

in all the unexpressed

in the midst of the art.

even at my best,

find me in the silence

bursting between the 

adjacent syllables,

then don’t just look,

hear,

listen to what one word 

whispers to the other,

how they acknowledge the unsaid

by leaving space for it on the screen

to exist

then don’t just hear,

smell,

breathe in the vaguely musky scent

of all the letters that never made it

on to the screen in front of you

because i pressed backspace,

either because they didn’t really 

say what i really wanted to 

or because they said it a little too well.

then when all this is done,

feel it.

understand

that this is why in school

you were taught four different interpretations

for a single line and although

that might exasperate you,

this is why a poem is more than

the sum of the words that

it consists of,

this is the reason why the words

you read on paper and on your screen

will never be where the 

true meaning of the poem lies.

but the truth sits there

squeezed in between all the noise,

patiently waiting,

somehow always the winner

of this game of

literary hide and seek.

but now,

if you want to,

at least you know where to find it.

“I don’t care where it ends, let it begin.”

—

i never feel like i have enough time to do anything. i have so much to learn and to accomplish but i always feel like i’m being chased by the shadows of shortening hours, and i have to remind myself to breathe.

we have all the time in the world, but also, we don’t.  (via a-quietsoul)

Her

Poetry is when a heart aches of love, pure genuine love, an offspring of happiness. It is when tears run down your cheeks due to the amount of love one can feel. it allows you a moment of pure ecstasy, so hypnotic to the eye of one who has once felt that pure love. Poetry is art. Art that creates ethereal imagery in your heart, and mind.

28/10

white sand, waves crashing on the shoreline, wind blowing from the west i decided to allow the sand to drown my feet as i walked across the shore appreciating the tranquility in the air, i lingered in a spot once in a while to rejoice in the breezy weather with the sound of waves splashing and the 1975’s fallingforyou

for a moment i got lost in the ocean’s ethereal beauty and i envied the moon for being able to see it everyday, i lingered there as the moon vowed its love for the ocean wishing i could do the same to you but i knew better than to break my own fragile heart like that as unfortunately the feelings aren’t reciprocal

i looked down catching the moment where the waves kissed the shore over and over again more passionately each time as if it were its last time every time and it reminded me of the endless love i had to pour all over you if only you’d let me

snapping back to reality i realized it was foolish of me to turn that euphoric moment into a melancholy one so i continued walking with you on my mind still i thought of how impeccable this moment would be with your presence just you, me and the ocean...

USS Belleau Wood aflame on her aft flight deck following a Japanese kamikaze attack on 30 October 1944.

via reddit