W ritten in the stars
R eally it is for me and you
I gaze amoung the stars at night
T he answer we can find
E nveloped in majesty, by Gods mighty hand
N eeding assurance, was it meant to be
I t is our destiny
N eed to grasp it now
T ime disappears so fast
H old your dreams in your heart
E verlasting love is possible
S top, think, listen to your heart <3
T hats our answer today
A nd stop running and hiding
R each up grasp that dream
S ure will come true believe dont doubt
The winter was long, cold, and gray,
Till spring finally headed our way.
With the melt and the thaw,
The worst sight I saw,
Was where the sun doesn't shine every day.
You till the land;
Nose stinks of sand.
You water throat;
Tum suffers gloat.
Like no difference;
Hope paints absence.
Like dreaming soil;
Seedlings seem spoil.
Cum every phase;
Fruits count on days...
Cum every need;
Mouths wish to feed...
Those that till..., stay!
Those for fruits..., stray!
The Past Can Be
Like Riding A Bike.
And There Is
Nothing You Can
Do About It Now.
Even This Is
The Past.
Shall We Focus
On Regret?
You Might Say:
"YES!"
Where It Still
Hurts.
But, "no thank you..."
Where It Doesn’t
Any More...
Yeah, That's A Super-Selfish Spot
To Choose, To Avoid Colliding
With The Moon's Tempting
Desire For The Sea!
It Means More To Me...
I Only See Pieces
Of Definitions To Define.
I'm Only Here.
-Gray Squirrel
10-01-2025
When trying to grasp thoughts through our mind’s haze,
It’s like trying to escape a thought maze.
As the bits and pieces accumulate,
How will they connect, how will they relate?
We try to relate them to things we know.
Each thought should be placed right where it should go.
So many topics to assimilate,
We constantly add and have to update.
Without clear focus they may lose their flow,
By first burning to bright then losing their glow.
Without definition, they will not last,
Some good ideas will drift to the past.
Give each thought it’s time, make sure it’s defined,
It will be its best when finely refined.
sequestered in a
somber sepulchre
where I relinquish
dead memories
and iced nightmares
upon resting ivy,
twisted
with rotting thistle
I'm no longer
able to breathe
pulverized pain
as I shed this
stitched-on hollow skin
resuscitation under
Jupiter's moon
My hands, too small to grasp a dream in its gentle flight,
Yet too large to capture their attention, to hold them in their delicate thread.
What am I, if not art, just a simple presence without contour,
Perhaps just the frame that surrounds a story, without a murmur of its own?
In the flow of my thoughts, I wonder who I truly am,
If perhaps I've only been a frame, a space too wide, too flat.
My hands cannot keep the magic of the dream that unravels easily,
Nor capture the gazes that fly like birds without flight.
I wonder what remains of me when everything disappears like mist,
Just an echo of unfulfilled dreams, a shadow that clings to my life.
But perhaps the frame has its own beauty, in its subtle silence,
Like a silent witness to art, giving it form, but never speaking out.
Thus, I continue to weave my thoughts in this inner labyrinth,
Searching for meaning, a light, a fragment of the dream I long for.
And even when my hands seem powerless in the face of destiny,
I remain a part of the story, a necessary outline of the mystery.
In illness's cruel grasp, I find my heart,
Regret flows deep, for pain I bring to thee,
My loved ones dear, who suffer at my part,
Yet fight I will, for life’s sweet harmony.
Though sickness shadows bright, our days made grey,
Your tears, they cut me deep, beyond compare,
Not wanting to die, this I do say,
For you, I'll battle on with utmost care.
But if my plight should cause your hearts more strain,
Then let my soul to shadow realms descend,
Where peace awaits, free from this earthly pain,
Awaiting you, my love, when life's at end.
Our love, a beacon, ever bright and strong,
Through this life’s trials, it will endure,
Transcending realms, where we belong,
In the next world, even more pure.
Etched in our name, my memory shall stay,
Save tears for then, for now, let's seize the day.
And should the final breath from me depart,
Know this: my love for you will never fade,
In life or death, you hold my steadfast heart,
Our bond eternal, by no illness swayed.
In every fight, I’ll stand, no matter cost,
Until the end, where life and death are crossed.
????????????????
At the early dawn,
when eyes slip away from the fraying night.
I feasted upon a dime of hours lost.
The wasteful minutes,
the misheeded seconds,
life demands here.
At the moment,
I feel like running back to the past
like a wind,
To rewind the hand of time.
Clutching it down,
tight in the grasp of my hand.
and never let it slips away.
All but….
an illusion.
© ??????????????
In the dusting of springtime squeeze
Sweet-scented of yesterday glees.
Recall of rose bloom and clear days,
Of mirth and warmth in many ways.
Meek breeze bears the whiff of ripe life,
Fresh beginnings and cease of strife.
The world rouse from its frost slumber,
Nature's grace is once more wonder.
The birds sing their sweet melodies,
As they build their nests in the trees.
Bees buzz around, grasping nectar,
Butterflies dance in quaint vectors.
Let's bask in the charm of the sun,
And hype blooms that ne'er strove nor spun.
Written: June 05, 2023
In The Dusting Of The Springtime Sweet Scented
Thoughts Of Yesterday Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
In winter's grasp, the world doth sleep,
A frosty breath, its secrets keep,
Yet through the still, a melody,
Chirping birds, a symphony.
Upon the boughs of skeletal trees,
Their whispers weaved with icy breeze,
A harmony of crystal air,
A song of life, a love affair.
The snowflakes dance, as whispers call,
From feathered throats, a chorus enthralled,
An aria of contrast, bold and bright,
A celebration in frozen twilight.
A velvet sky adorned with gems,
A lunar light, the night befriends,
And in the hush, a gentle sway,
The world awakes to greet the day.
In winter's heart, the songbirds sing,
Defiant warmth, their voices bring,
A testament to life's embrace,
A serenade to nature's grace.
At the edge of disparity
Step back
Reach out
Grasp the hand of clarity
Grasp My Gaps with Many Asps
The flowers of the spring are known
Throughout the land, they bloom and grow
But those that bloom when else is naught
Quietly show their beauty wrought
In winter’s grasp upon the earth
Kin’s absence is what shows their worth
The fragile winter flower’s grace
Is not that bold, nor that great
Yet because it stands alone
It stands upon an icy throne
For it has thrived where others died
That fills it with a secret pride
And defiantly it shows its love
As it gazes east to the sun
The sun which rises up above
And hurries to its bed, the west
To slumber deep, its glow arest
And all the while the north wind blows
Biting cold in winter’s throes
Which the flower weathers deftly
As it struggles as it gently
Lifts its head East in morning gold
And blooms defiant in the cold
bottom of a bowel
of jagged rocks
slender bristling pines
ring a ragged sky
through which slips
slivers of warmth
hugging me like a child
on this crisp morning
life on the line
wiggling wriggling
jumping
splashing, flashing
slippery, cold, and firm
in my grasp
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.