So I have experienced some years of life. I have tried. I have failed. I have lived. Not died yet, but have imagined it. My mind is not a very bright place and I like it like that. I have been known to be quite 'out there'. I take it that I do not have to explain myself to another poet, these things, feelings and emotions are why a lot of us start writing. Start wanting to change things or escape things. It is why we create our own worlds and walk blindly in reality. My heart beats for my inner worlds. Reality is a strange place for me, it is too happy at moments and others too sad, it doesn't have a balance. It is a scale that keeps tipping from one side then to the other, but I guess that... more »
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Amelia Murray Poems
R.I.P Little Bow-Peep
I felt like writing a poem about life but then something else caught my eye little Bow-Peep going far far astray.
Circles of emotions. Doubts that are empowering, is a flame warm? Does the snow mean winter?
My walls are of glass. The Lord has washed them, They are the purest that they have ever been. My glass used to be brown with filth.
When Tears are Your Words
Stars are bright in a moonless sky. Grass frosty in the early morning dew The ocean water is lapping the sand as if it will never see it again
I am now a lonesome being, waiting. Waiting for forever to arrive.
Life unwinding... always new people, are any true?
The Mixed Masquerade
Witches pick out their best masks. Ghouls get their best suits. Vampires sharpen their teeth to the point of perfection.
Conjuring up yourself. Talking, but the words are empty.
Your words are lies
One day follows the next, Time is relative. Life is your making. Your tongue slithers.
She stands by a frosted window. Snow lays on her lover, Ground. She's looking into a lighted room, the warmth keeps the frost demons out.
Death has a strange appearance, He comes to reap your soul, before your thoughts can construct. you sway back and forth in a black void,
Empty messages. Eyes spilling over with tears. Fingers set to a purpose. Mouths turning to familiar positions.
I take it back, saying love hurts the most. A dying heart and tears of blood.
I could feel the Hole in my chest. There is now one less to carry on your family crest. How i wished this time would never come. No one was here to stop your heart from giving the final drum.
Comments about Amelia Murray
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
R.I.P Little Bow-Peep
I felt like writing a poem about life
but then something else caught my eye
little Bow-Peep going far far astray.
No calls of help or sorrow are heard.
For little bow-peep had wandered away.
Now it comes to pass that a big ugly lizard,
found little Bow-Peep walking alone.
He stopped by the corner and gave her a grin,
not of affection but more of a win.
She popped up her head and gave a slight nod.
This is what happens on the streets after dark
The lizard perused little bow-peep
up the large hills and through the low rivers.
Past the big ...