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icy storm Poems
They confine you. They seperate you from the world. You live inside these walls. You have put up these walls.
cold NIGHT dark NIGHT ...good NIGHT
Over The Hills and Far Away
What lies over those hills and far away? 'elsewhere'. Beyond the yellow brick road that is 'our' society. 'Elsewhere' is the place we try to forget but can't.
through an opaque window
Life? its seem so complicated. Can't really put your finger on what it is? Life is a search for 'Happiness'. In my few years on this earth of confusion i have learned that,
here we are just passing by. going nowhere but time does fly. this life goes by so fast.
happiness is something one trys to find. its not bought, stolen, nor can one give happiness. we are on a constant search for happiness.n we will not find it.
there it is. year after year. new faces. same place.
the next it is gone
what is this life? a dream? or a lie? this life is nothing but what you make of it.
What are You Thinking?
Rough Around the Edges
Life is a mountin. Tall jagged and rough. Yet elegant and pure. You begin to realize some parts are easy to climb while others are terribly hard.
Colors of My Life
Part of me is a penetrating red, like in the fall when the trees are flaming red. Happy excited
Alone In a Crowded Room
At first glance this kid doesn't apper 'different'. He doesn't stand out like a sore thumb. He is not likely to be the one wearing a pink tie to a black and white formal.
Thank-You For Your Time
Time waits for nobody. We are living our lives in nothing more than borrowed time. Clawing with our fingernails through our darkest times, like a wandering worm traveling through the deepest darkest soils of earth.
He who plots the destruction of others will often perish in the attempt. He places an obstacle in front of the pale blue colored eyes of the one who he thinks is...weak
Comments about icy storm
(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)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
They confine you.
They seperate you from the world.
You live inside these walls.
You have put up these walls.
If these walls could talk,
what would you tell them?
say what you want,
but they will never say anything back.
Like evey structure made by man
your walls of confinement will crumble to the ground.
you scream as your peices rain onto the ground.
If only these walls could talk.