Jessel Jane Tevar
Poetry to me is like blood on my veins...
I may be a sentimental fool..it may be true.
It doesn't matter so long as I write my heart out.
And who can take poetry from me?
Only God can. more »
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Jessel Jane Tevar Poems
*Life or Death
I asked him what's the best thing to choose: life or death. He whispered 'death'. And so I shot him;
*The Wine and Me
I asked the moon to drink with me tonight; he just gave me a heavy sigh, as though he heard that plea from me a thousand times before.
The hands that write what lips would dare not say and eyes that mock what mind would dare to play of nights lost in the deepest thoughts of him that dares to say the holiest name of names.
Weeping for ones who in darkness lie, the ones who in distress have sold their helpless souls; for ones who have been born only to die... perhaps for ones they never knew at all.
*Heart, believe me
Heart, believe me. That was just a night... How fool it is for my mind to linger his words this way;
*In His Eyes
In his eyes are empty wells where waters only flow endless when I stare; and in his eyes are dark skies
*A LITTLE WHILE ETERNAL
Tell him i love to make these words a song with his luscious lips... and make the rhythm of my heart be mellow music to his ears.
Dont run Mr. Runner
Dont run Mr. runner, there'll be no place to go.. take time to see the pretty things; you have to take it slow.
Dont Look Into my Eyes
A sight of ocean rising in ceaseless waves against the sky troubled the moon as she slowly turned around to see me die everyday just to live longer,
You and My Shadow
You never noticed how your single glance pressed my shadow on the wall. And by simply smiling even once, my pressed shadow falls
Across the Road
To cross or not to cross was all I thought when I saw her face across the road. Her eyes was set as though she lost her soul,
Half-Forgotten Love Affair
Clouds catching shadows on the ground, while the winds are careful not to make a sound. Dancing waters in the night... Oh, how that splendor filled my sight!
I love him that never loved me till love turned to drifting wind in my dream. I weep for him that never wept for me till tears became cold snows in my dream.
How Can I Love Her?
She's a woman- I am just a man. She sleeps with me... she kisses me.
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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)
*Life or Death
I asked him what's the best thing
to choose: life or death.
He whispered 'death'.
And so I shot him;
not because he chose another...
but because he was MY LIFE.