Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Brianna Wahlquist Poems
Grave Yard Tale
Hold on to what is gone For what has gone is still is in your grip The storm clears and you can't see If only you could see that the storm is gone temporarily.
Time in, Time out
Time in, time out Through each time I want to shout. We go as one at the good lord's calling We call it something like 'free falling'
The day you are born and the day you die, Has a dash between the two on your headstone. Make that line, The longest rope to walk on,
Nothing she does can ever take back the mistake that'll be made. Sun; hot and high hangs in the sky, she hides in the shade. With each day and with each crack she begins to fade.
Haunting With The Dead
Nothing remains, only the remains remain. If it all that remains, why does she still feel the pain? A Sleaze, she thinks of the man as dead.
Has A Dream
I tug at my arms, the jacket that is draped over them. I feel the wind in my hair, soaking me.
I say it once, I say it twice, I say it as I run over Three Blind Mice;
Prey To Be
All human, Maybe a touch of something else. Something like the taste of bitter. Unique in every way,
Sitting here thinking of you, Thinking of the love we once knew. Wondering why it happened. I should have believed when it was said,
When I see roses, I see flowers. Who knew the things we say Have great powers.?
You Want and I Give
You want security? Just know, remember these words as you lie in bed, you walk to school,
Look to the left. Darkness clouds my mind. Not that my mind has ever been clear. In quick distraction, born to shear.
Hate Teases and Love Eases
I hate the way you know me. The way you look at me, full of passion and love. When you flash one of those rare smiles, I curse the heavens above. I hate how you act so sweet, but to the rest of the world you're so tough.
Twirl, twirl, twirl. I feel the breeze catch me in the air, my bun coming undone, leaving bronze strings of my hair.
(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)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Grave Yard Tale
Hold on to what is gone
For what has gone is still is in your grip
The storm clears and you can't see
If only you could see that the storm is gone temporarily.
Dressed in black, standing by and old Oak
Standing in the rain, watching as the graves soak
What you see is not real
Nor is it a dream
Eyes lighten with a fatal gleam.
A touch in the night
You feel around the darkness to find the heart
Saying prayers as dusk becomes dawn
All of the drunken love is gone.
Wake as if a slumber could keep the facts buried
Remember the doubts that you ...