AAAHH NUUU MY BEAUTIFULLY CENTERED AND PERFECT POEM!!

It got cut up... 

P.S.: Lightpaw is saying something about -kio-. Who's kio? 

Here's a poem I wrote--

Evening Music

Dark trees against the purple stage

Pink clouds moving to the windy beat

Nature moving to the twilight tempo

Drum of footsteps

Quiet melody, evening music 

http://www.cricketmagkids.com/chatterbox/puddingsplace/node/315784

I have a poem about my betta fish, which isn't really true anymore since she changed color, but here it is....

MY PET

The pretty betta curls,

Her limber body twilight crystal

Layered upon pearl.

Her tail a graceful fan,

Of moon rays swept with vivid blue

Waved by some graceful hand.

The water's her domain,

And though I claim her as my own

She is not truly tame.

Kind of old fashioned style but I like it anyway ;) 

Two more poems--

Candle

A soft light

A warm delight

Flames orange and bright

A wax friend to defeat the night.

Pen

The pen runs across the page

The words never seeming to age

A wondrous tool

Only unused by the fool

How could one not love

This inky dove? 

Wow, these are really good! Thanks, guys! And here:

The TV drones

Turned very low

Slight snoring

Soft as snow 

Cars rush past

Hurrying through dark

Night is quiet

Oh, but hark!

The sun climbs high

Into the sky

Sunlight seeps through

A window

And as the clock nears

Morning cheer

The day

Begins

To glow 

First Frost

Ice dancing on green

Here comes the winter queen 

Autumn's last wish

Presented with a frosty kiss 

A Poem Without a Title:

inhale

the world is dead but I’m so alive

full of energy

fire in my eyes 

exhale

the world is gray but I’ll make it colorful again

full of energy

fire in my eyes

as long as there is oxygen a fire never dies... 

What do you think you’re doing?
Who do you think you’re fooling.
Can you truly not see?
Or are unable to get past
The idea that those people
Those sweet, innocent, people
Are wolves in sheep's clothing
Waiting for the perfect time to pounce.

Do you remember
That time once ago.
When it was me you would come to
When it was them that you ran from
When it was her that insulted you
And belittled you
And bullied all of us.
Do you remember?
Or do you just not care

She’s torn me down
And hurt me worse
And worse
And worse.
Tell me
Have you ever seen her
Not taking someone down?
Not trying to ruin someone?
Not tearing someone apart?
Because I haven’t.

Who hurt you so much
That they made you think
That this is love?
That this is what you need
What you deserve?
Because it’s not.
At least— it wasn’t
You aren’t who you once were
Or did you hide her from me as you did the rest?
You take
And take
And take
And for what?
Some time in the spotlight?
Some time
Without us?

Were we that useless
Was I that useless?
Why
Why
Why
Are you like this?
Why must you hurt me?
Why must you do to me
What you promised
To never do

When the light had drowned
You were the candle
But now it seems
Your facade was only a flame
Easily blown away
And what’s left?
Forgotten wax
Tortured and drowning
in its on destruction
For it was the wax
Who asked for the flame.

For it was I
Who asked for you

We stan writing about the girl who you used to be best friends with but now doesn't talk to you :( 

camera flashes

and tears staining your lashes

melting roses

and nobody else knows this

so paint me red

and paint me blue

act like i’m ruining the view 

sunset bridges

unrealized fire kisses

dripping roses

now everybody knows this

Oh boy. I've got a lot to put here. Luckily, I know just where to start.

An Introduction

How can I explain to you these things that I write? 

How can I explain to you the restlessness I feel, that can be answered only by the touch of pen on paper?

How can I explain to you the knowing, the way only one word fits just right, this jigsaw puzzle I create in my mind?

We have a word for it.

Poetry.

But this word means so many things to so many people -

How can I explain to you what it means to me?

I suppose one must start at the beginning.

A wave of emotions -

But this wave is made of words,

Not droplets.

They tumble,

One over the other,

Pounding against the dam in my mind

Until they drain out onto the paper.

It doesn't matter if I want it.

It doesn't matter if the words I write

Immortalize my joy

Or my pain.

But just as the tree must sway in the wind,

Though it risks toppling over,

I, too,

Must obey,

Must write.

Sometimes I wonder,

How is it for you?

Do you feel the pull of emotion

Pushing you to create?

Are you caught in moments where

All you can think about

Are the words that are waiting,

Urging you to put them on the paper?

Each poem is a message,

A memory,

A feeling.

I look back on each,

Like a timeline

And each I can feel as vividly as the moment those words took shape.

Is it like that for you?

As you read these words, what do you feel?

Is what we see of other people

Ever all that they are?

Maybe not, but

If one read all my poems,

I think that might be as close as you could get.

Sometimes I wonder,

Will anyone?

Will anyone ever read them all?

Will I ever let anyone?

One could never know how much courage that would take me.

If ever I give you one of my poems,

Hold it as a sign of immeasurable trust,

Because what you are really holding is a piece of my soul.

A poem is no small thing,

Though it may be few in words.

For that is the art of poetry -

Saying so much with so little.