More... Poems - Poems about More...

i couldnt tel you more

if I could tell you more I'd let you now,
but really it's top secret,
otherwise id tell you everything,
if I could i would ,
but I cant.

The Earth Is More Than Our Prison

At first we hid in our human shells,
Frail lanterns flickering in the dark,
A few still slipped through unseen doors,
Wings beating toward a brighter mark.

But soon the skies were sealed with stone,
The stars withdrew their silver keys,
We found ourselves confined to earth,
Like birds in branches without leaves.

Mars once bloomed with rivers clear,
Venus sang in a golden

She was afraid of heights, but she feared even more never flying

She was afraid of heights, but she feared even more never flying,
Like a bird that keeps its wings folded, fearing the wind,
Yet whose song is filled with the desire to soar towards the sky.
She was afraid of plunges, of the abyss stretching beneath her,
Like an ocean hiding its depths in mystery,
But in her eyes was

not new nor novel no more

not new nor novel no more
See some sights, see some more
But now I am standing at my door
The room the same as before

not new nor novel no more
Still, I can't be bothered to make a change
Yet I'm longing to turn the page 
standing still at center stage

not new nor novel no more
But I could change

More

More fool me
For hoping you would change,
You promised me the world
Yet everything’s the same.
I’ve told you that I’m broken
And I can barely cope,
You said you’d make more effort
Filling me with hope.
Actions speak louder 
Than your words can ever say,
I’ve already waited forever 
So I won’t wait another day.
I’m not sorry that we’re over
I’m sorry that

More Than Flowers On Your Birthday

This year, my darling love, you’ll receive more than flowers
Jewelry, candy, candles, gifts, kisses and chocolate bars
You will also get your AARP letter and your Medicare card
It’s vital that you take good care of yourself going forward.

Since you’re now sixty-five years old, you should feel blessed
Lucky, privileged and chosen. Please, please never get depressed
Age is

You felt that you should follow a different path, more ambitious and full of dreams

You felt that you should follow a different path, more ambitious and full of dreams,
a road scattered with hidden stars whispering your name in the night,
but you had no idea how to get there, how to forge your way through the shadows,
and so, in your misery, you began to hate everything around you, like a

just one more

I remember when
age was a candle number ~
now it is ignored
until count down tells on years ~
then you beg for just one more

Miss You More

I'm missing you all over again
And it's not because you gave me hope
It's not because I love you more now

I miss you every day, especially at night
And it's because I gave myself hope
Because I saw you, now I see you everywhere

More on Mushrooms?

I cannot sleep - my mind is uneasy.
You can see, I'm no longer light and breezy.
Was there something more, I still need to say
about mushrooms to dear CayCay?

MORE LIKE THE TREES

I wish it could be said we were all a little more like the trees
when our time on Earth is done…
because even the smallest trees spread their arms in welcome…
while offering shade and shelter to everyone.

More Than A Soft Toy

Some keep a blanket or an item of sentiment
Which holds deeper purpose than what was meant.

On the surface you are a soft brown dog
With a gentle face and floppy ears.
But you are much more to her than a soft toy.
You were a friend in her earlier years.

To her you were living, listening and real
As she

All that and more you are

Lifelong longing of mine you are,
Highest art, heart divine you are.

Not even for a second far,
In every cell supine you are.

My  treasured gift forever green, 
Mirrors vouch, how genuine you are.

All world willing is to confess:
What wonderful design you are!

To my fond dreams a moonlit night,
And night that lets moon shine, you are.

Love potion,

When We Shed Our Old Skin and Grow More Beautiful Than Ever

It clung like ivy, patient, green with hunger —
wrapped itself around every beam,
crept beneath shingles,
rooted in the cellar’s damp breath.

I mistook it for the house itself —
fed it rain, fed it dust,
let it climb my windows
and press its leaves to the glass
until I could no longer see daylight.

But rot loosens quietly.
One morning the vines lay

I have no more winter in me

I have no more winter in me

no more snow
                    no more snowflakes, neither cheerful 
nor sad

the nights are white, and
palms are death,

and
the lost heart
beats in
the desert

I have no more winter in me

no snowflakes, neither cheerful
nor sad

only
silence,

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