My love for reading began when I was six. Books were my escape - my contant companions as I travelled to wonderful places I've never been. But I discovered the beauty of writing Poems when I was 9. It all started as an English project, and I've been writing ever since. When my heart can't say the words out loud, My hand takes control and writes it down. more »
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Myrah Carls Poems
Reflections on glass tainted, haunted memories sanity's anchor.
Wanting To Be Free
I will go where the moonlight takes me - down paths I've walked before. Shuffling along with feet bound to my heart unitl the light reveals me,
Move on. No more backward glances. Move on. Stop wishing for what once was.
I think I've come to the end of my line - where feelings don't matter, neither does time; fleeting images of what once was past, I'm grasping at lost memories, holding on fast.
I'm touched by the way a sad bird sings - of how its melodies strum my heart on silent strings; the notes and chords reach my soul,
Where Has The Love Gone?
Alone, in the silence of the night, images run through my head, the memories fill my mind - of a time in the distant past
Is there no end to this resentment, to the seething anger that simmers below the unseeming facade of a smile? Threatening to boil over at the slightest provocation,
All I have is myself - with all of my insane ramblings. I laugh, I cry, I sometimes stare in the mirror -
Echoes Of Past
It must have been the cold that brought me back, to a place in my heart where you and I used to dwell.
Resentment is the silenced voice of imprisoned emotions, struggling to breathe - like fire in a closed glass jar.
Comments about Myrah Carls
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Reflections on glass
tainted, haunted memories