Reader Poems - Poems about Reader

Dearest reader, I have many secrets But I wont tell you now, I'll wait till you're older Heavens know I have many regrets But I wont tell you now, please wait till I'm bolder There are many things about me you dont know yet But I wont tell you niw as you rhetorically cry on my shoulder There is a version...

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I think about the person I thought I would be by now, someone stronger, more fearless, more put-together. Someone who didn’t cry over things that happened years ago. Things that happened last week. Memories from when I first wore a backpack. Memories now. Someone who had it figured out. I’m fifteen, and I don’t have...

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I wonder what it would’ve been like to grow up differently. Perhaps with fewer mental roadblocks. Possibly with a brain that wasn’t constantly shifting channels without warning. I’ve been trying so hard lately, writing a book that digs into the mess of identity, lying, family, and mental illness, designing guitar lesson plans, building a future...

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Dear reader, I am sad because I thought about my life, and it made me want to cry. It didn’t strike me like lightning, there was no crash of thunder or moment of clarity. It was quieter than that and it came slowly, like dusk settling in after a long...

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Spire insight of silence Swotch and bind, conspiracy of mind Conspire and self-protrude Mindless matter of maddened hatter Borne gall of uncongruent bladder Reign wettened confections'n faux pas Pram embedded bedding of public propaganda And poised for prose 'dulted diaper thrown an' broiled'n a gutter Homely homelessness in wake of deft arms Freshened refreshener and wetted choke Chugged and driven doomed...

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Write. Write. Write. It was the only passion I took pride. The only thing that felt right. Ink flows from my pen like a river, Creating worlds and characters that come alive. In the silence of my room, I lose myself in the words I consume. Why do I continue to write? There was no one to excite. No reader, no praise,...

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Lover of novels Always immersed mind full of Imagination....

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Time is a funny thing, time does not always seem real. Governments and their rulers, come and go. Some are good to their people and country, while others only destroy. Can they be brought to their knees, maybe ~ sometimes? When we are living in today, we have real time. Can we now see or understand, the many years that will come? Then one day we awaken, to...

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I thought to read my own palm...took a 5’ver out of my pocket to be authentic spoke out-loud only listening too the echo: “Does she love me, or does she not?” my wife had entered the room, and crept up behind me: “She loves you!” and took the 5’ver from the table. ...

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keen orphic reader cabalistic tendencies mystical and keen enigmatic strong a master of the occult lively prophecies...

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If ye benevolent reader count yourself as a wise married man such as me... (truer words never spoken nor written) take my word and decline and absolutely refuse to take masterly crafted bait videre licet Facebook female seeking to lure, catch and unwittingly cannibalize thee unfortunate soul courtesy dangling eye catching teasing offer vis a vis friend request. Analogous to a virtual faux conscientious fisherwoman, nonchalantly sporting...

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Writers love their letters, letters turn into words. Words turn into sentences, waiting to be read. Poems come from writing, writing about the past. Maybe from the present, maybe true or false. As a faithful reader, we laugh we cry. Many love to read, yet again and again. The reader and writer, then become as one. Both in love with, letters-words-sentences-reading....

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O some day to come, it may be that time will bury my memory deep as the hidden sleep of those who lie in some forgotten churchyard; but my judgment is that the future holds for me a fadeless crown of amaranth and gold. O thou Anonymous Reader, when I, a bard whose graces are...

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Her eyes are like glittering shards of light blue topaz They see into my soul and pull out my hidden thoughts I try to avoid her, but she is everywhere, appearing suddenly Is she an angel, a soul reader or what? I do not know But here she comes now...

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Ross, the book reader was full of ideas for more books. Many called him elf man, I called him Crazy Crooks. His job was to read all day and entertain the night life. Regaling us with interesting stories so big, bold and bright. I want that book, many other elves said to the boss. He laughed at them, knowing they...

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