Action's Poems
Hey,
This is my collection of poems.
No description, because I have nothing to say
More poems to come, check for updates,
-action
Hey,
This is my collection of poems.
No description, because I have nothing to say
This World
This world before you,
The one you can't see;
That place you always dream of:
The image within your head.
You cannot reach it,
Yet it is before you;
You cannot see it,
Yet it is in your sight.
Utopia, a world of peace,
One untouched by hatred;
The perfect land, the land of life,
The land of everlasting happiness.
They teach it to us,
In words, in song;
They describe it for us,
To better understand.
It was made for us, and our creator,
A creator doubted by science;
This perfect world, Utopia, Kingdom,
Something of only dreams.
This world before you,
The one you can't see;
That place you always dream of:
The image within your head.
You cannot reach it,
Yet it is before you;
You cannot see it,
Yet it is in your sight.
Utopia, a world of peace,
One untouched by hatred;
The perfect land, the land of life,
The land of everlasting happiness.
They teach it to us,
In words, in song;
They describe it for us,
To better understand.
It was made for us, and our creator,
A creator doubted by science;
This perfect world, Utopia, Kingdom,
Something of only dreams.
Hope, I say!
I saw it,
With my own two eyes:
Hope!
Hope that lives among us!
She was a beautiful lady,
Her hair white as snow.
The irises that her eyes held closely,
Were in colour, that of the sea.
Hands delicate as a flower,
Her cheeks rounds and coloured.
I followed her as the sun began to set,
The clouds turned purple.
Her stride was graceful,
So as compared to a doe.
She was happy, giddy as could be,
Unwary of what was to come.
Hope, indeed she was,
For next to her, I was confident.
I knew the great things she would bring,
The feast to be laid in her welcoming.
The smiles on the faces of the townsfolk,
When they found her.
For a simple short period of time,
Out of my sight she slipped.
A cry, not of horror, but fear,
Echoed from where she was.
A ran to where I could find her,
And her, I found bereft of life.
Bloodied by the stab to the heart,
And to think in that short moment, I had lost her forever?
I saw it,
With my own two eyes:
Hope!
Hope that lives among us!
She was a beautiful lady,
Her hair white as snow.
The irises that her eyes held closely,
Were in colour, that of the sea.
Hands delicate as a flower,
Her cheeks rounds and coloured.
I followed her as the sun began to set,
The clouds turned purple.
Her stride was graceful,
So as compared to a doe.
She was happy, giddy as could be,
Unwary of what was to come.
Hope, indeed she was,
For next to her, I was confident.
I knew the great things she would bring,
The feast to be laid in her welcoming.
The smiles on the faces of the townsfolk,
When they found her.
For a simple short period of time,
Out of my sight she slipped.
A cry, not of horror, but fear,
Echoed from where she was.
A ran to where I could find her,
And her, I found bereft of life.
Bloodied by the stab to the heart,
And to think in that short moment, I had lost her forever?
Spring
Water drips slowly, from the branches above my head;
long arms that stretch above my path.
The songs of millions of birds fills the air with an unorganized symphony;
a beautiful one, though in spite.
Growing along the road are colours, specking the sides;
colours making their home in the petals of a flower.
The sky is the deep blue of the sea, empty save the everlasting light above;
something I have not seen through the previous months.
It seems, the one there who can't be seen
(the one who makes this be, all that is around)
Is stretching her loving arms wide across;
touching the cold earth, and bringing it warmth once again.
And with this spread of the golden rays,
everything has life once again.
The dark, the cold, the meloncholy;
banished from the earth for the months to come.
Water drips slowly, from the branches above my head;
long arms that stretch above my path.
The songs of millions of birds fills the air with an unorganized symphony;
a beautiful one, though in spite.
Growing along the road are colours, specking the sides;
colours making their home in the petals of a flower.
The sky is the deep blue of the sea, empty save the everlasting light above;
something I have not seen through the previous months.
It seems, the one there who can't be seen
(the one who makes this be, all that is around)
Is stretching her loving arms wide across;
touching the cold earth, and bringing it warmth once again.
And with this spread of the golden rays,
everything has life once again.
The dark, the cold, the meloncholy;
banished from the earth for the months to come.
More poems to come, check for updates,
-action