I lost me…

My eyes have forgotten how to cry.
My heart has forgotten how to feel.
My soul has gone missing.
I am so empty inside.

It’s a dark, dark place inside of me.
Full of cobwebs, full of hate.
Full of anger, and full of sadness.
Why must I be so misserable?

My face is pale, my lips are pale.
My eyes and my heart are hollow.
I cannot feel anything…
pain, once so sharp, is now dull and weak in me.

Staring off into a black oblivion.
My life is becoming so bleak.
I sit, rocking back and forth,
remembering the day I lost my soul, my heart…my everything.

Crimson…crimson everywhere.
A glint of something shiny lying on the floor.
A door slamming shut, I pick my clothes up off the floor.
I try to regain my thoughts, but they’re spinning out of control.

Later, blood seeping from the cut on my arm.
A soft moan escapes my lips as I slowly drag the blade up my arm.
Hating myself for not being able to stop what happened.
Hating you for doing it.

White…white tub with me laying in it.
Water rising higher and higher.
My tears helping to fill it.
As I turn the water off, my tears stop, I can no longer cry.

I lost everything that day.
I lost my soul, I lost my heart.
I lost you, but most of all…
I lost me.

by Tiffany Green

I walk on the course
with a great big smile on my face

Then I tee off
The ball soars like a bird in the sky

Lands right in the middle
Of the beautiful green fairway

Now i’m directly in the sun
not being able to see at all

So I look at the ball
And smack it as hard as i can

It goes further than its ever gone
And landed a foot from the pin

Now I go to putt
And line my ball up perfectly

Take a deep breath
And tap the ball right into the hole.

by Tristan McMillin

With shoulder length brown hair she is close to her prime
And beauty such as she has does inspire bards to rhyme
A twenty one year old not lacking in charm
She lives and works with her mum and dad on the farm.

So healthy looking from life in the clean country air
Laughter to her comes easily she hasn’t a care
At peace with the World of Nature’s ways more than most she know
And for Nature’s wild creatures respect she does show.

Content in her surroundings and content in her life
For some lucky bloke she will make a good wife
That is if she marry or what she decide
For good young men are scarce now in the Countryside.

The farm girl is lovely and young and carefree
And I’ve known not many as pretty as she
A woman unaffected by conceit or guile
With warmth in her hello and sunshine in her smile.

It’s a beautiful ride
In life a loving journey
One peace of happiness
Treasures of memories

On the motorcycle
Cruising down the freeway
country

With wind in your hair
With the sun set on the horizon

Joy of love over body
A rush of thrill excitement

It was beautiful amazing
Feeling
Just out in that opened
Adventure of nature

It was a ride of life
Deepened to your soul
With that feeling of love in your heart

Journey ride of joy and love
Peaceful to the earth you breathed

Bathed in it’s full glory
Sunset amber sky
ride into
Freeway
Horizon
With love of natures
Wrath of
Radiant breeze
Of desiring love

In a loving journey
Of beautiful memories
With motorcycle
Of amazing ride

Breathed in the air of country
Sunflowers riding into the sunset
Horizon

Peaceful
One love, one life
In one journey of a ride
So loved with the bless of hope

In this picture perfect ride

by Deb harman

Sunflowers are obedient,
to the sun’s eternal light.
Drawn upward by the sun’s warm rays,
they praise Him, day and night.

Their constant obedience
to the radiance from above,
is seen in their growth and beauty,
a reflection of their love.

They are a simple flower,
not chosen for their frame,
yet other flowers model them
and look upward just the same.

There are a thousand flowers
could be chosen for a bouquet,
there color and their fragrance,
a glorious display.

Yet the glory of the sunflower,
for it’s not a lowly weed,
is often seen by man and beast
for they bless us with their seed.

by Val Jennings

driving past wheat fields
when I am lost, but found through
music-filled daydreams

by Jessie Garber

Eyes wild enough to tame the wild
your lips ripe as the berries in June
i touch your skin to realize how mild
one needs a cradle to handle you
you would not cry but if you might
your tears roll down like dew
fall off your cheeks so light
and cause the roses to bloom
oh my love, prove me right
when i say you are beautiful

by Ralph O’Grantson

Fingers trace along your lips,
Painting the lines, exclusively laid bare across the ripples that paint as passionately as they lay,
as the passion fruit bliss, of the bite of your kiss,
A warm breeze zips by,
The passing of your breath,
Intwine with mine,
Obsession,
I tried to love you,
Before love knew definition,
A strong migrain left alone, to wither,
In the whisper of a thought,
As true romance happens,
As day becomes night,
And night ushers day,
As they wash in the look of each others eyes,
The wind bares witness,
As promise is made,
The sun, the moon, gifts given as result,
A mere fruit that sets sail,
From your eye, to mine,
As I admit,
I tried to hate you,
Before desire kindled from my tongue to yours

by Kewayne Wadley

You tell me you’re no beauty queen.
You say I must be blind.
You’d rather somethings go unseen
And hope that I don’t mind.

But you know what you do to me,
If not you should, my dear.
I’m wanting you – that’s plain to see –
Though why you’re still not clear.

You won’t believe you are the cause,
As if you ever could.
You speak to me about your flaws,
While I’m here getting wood!

by J.S. Black

Empty old houses can talk…
But one must know how to listen…
to hear them

Empty old houses have stories…
But one must be eager to listen…
to hear them

Empty old houses can suffer..
But one must have empathy …
To feel it

Empty old houses can feel pain
But one must be able to bear it …
To feel it

Empty old houses have memories
But one must believe … that they have…
To share them

Empty old houses contain people’s lives
But one must believe…that they do…
To share them

Empty old houses can seem dead and deserted
But one must know that they’re not..
To know them

Empty old houses can teem with life’s pleasures
But one must walk through
to sense the aura of life

Empty old houses abound in life’s treasures
But one cannot help but…
To admire them

by David Whalen