stasianary

Dreamer I close my eyes and wish that I were dead       and I pretend that you were just a dream.     I wish I'd made you up inside my head. As I begin to realize this dread,         all of my mixed emotions make me scream. I close my eyes and wish that I were dead. Heartbreak isn't something I can just shed, fighting it all back, the tears start to stream, I wish I'd made you up inside my head. I spend my nights alone and in my bed. My life is cold and empty so it seems. I close my eyes and wish that I were dead. I should have known that we would never wed. You made me take my life to the extreme. I wish I'd made you up insi

There once was a man Who grew tired of his hair No matter the day it always was a different color Sometimes spikes and sometimes spots He was so fickle about it Now this man was a very popular one I do recall a time When he hid his head from everyone And teased and teased about the outcome Quite a joker this guy is I guess he's into the partying and the fame He isn't much of a drinker at all He gave it up pretty much before he even got started on it His dress is often colorless He prefers to indulge in just plain black His hair as mentioned is a different story The locks on his head were black at a young age However it is tr

She enters as softly as a baby's breath, in a sea of gray-white mist, floating as quietly as a new dawn. There is nothing so pure; nothing as beautiful as the fair Innocence. A light glow radiates off of her pale purple-pink skin. Long strands of spun gold flow from her hair, carried from a wind that doesn't seem to exist. Her robes of silver thread hang gracefully from her body, swaying with every step. She speaks not, only smiles like she has a fond secret that she cannot tell. Eyes, blue and icy as a cold winter's morning with reflections of tiny stars sparkling. By her side, a small white fox rare in these parts and eve

The star is a stag And it growls in my heart The mighty stare and such power That a single night wouldn't Be enough twinkling stars He is a stag And I a doe and a poet When he gazes at me In the mist swirls of a dark Night, I shiver and smile In the red of passion We glare and yell, yell And laugh

Our childhood fun and games are blamed on dad. He thought that sandbox fun would do us good. "When I was young, I wanted one so bad," he said and built the box with some pine wood. The sand was brought back home in two large sacks. He grabbed them, quickly tearing open each and filled the box, not missing any cracks. We thought our sandbox could be like a beach and dad said, "Beach? It's like the desert, kids." "The sand feels good between our toes," we cried. We began playing games with some cup lids. And dad was happy, smiling big with pride. My sister, Sylv and I had fun for days. Our sand was used in many awesome ways.