Hahaha, alright. Wasn't too sure if people were keeping track of what I posted. But alright, I'll try to start typing them out. They're all pretty much randomness of my day but yah.
Oh and about the deep reading half, you can go here: www.xanga.com/endless_shadows the most recent isn't all that deep, but read back some and you'll find the meat.
Some of it even shocks me. Can't believe I wrote most of it. But yah...enjoy. The link is a link to my xanga blog. Mind thoughts. Kind of whatever type this and that kind of stuff.
But er...yah, peace out kid**.
Nothing But A Breeze
And she lies in the cold,
Unable to go inside,
Or rather,
Not wanting to.
Not obtaining the will
to have her legs lead her to the inside,
The warmth of a home,
Few today can enjoy without worry,
Calling to her,
but with the cold hold or something,
that isn't meant to be known,
holding her distance still.
She wishes for the unmaginable.
She hopes she could have what others fear,
and what some recieve without wanting.
She wants what's not there to be given and recieved,
but what's there to just happen.
She wishes she could be one of them
the ones that can just wander the halls,
like a breeze searching for an escape,
unnoticed and not cared much for.
but she's too social to be so.
She wants what she cannot have,
she gets what she does not need
and she gives more than she herself has.
As the warmth of a home is none more than a welcoming sort,
this warmth is warm,
but filled with a cold more cruel than the icyest touch,
and summed up to be what some people pray for.
If not for what holds inside that home,
she would not be the one people care and love for,
she would not be the one trying to keep things in check.
But what is held inside that home,
What's made her to be all she can
Is what makes her feel as alien as a speck of ice in a vast sizzling desert.
She does not want what it offers,
For it only offers what makes her worse.
The occultness of what's behind these,
are what causes her to lie outside in the cold,
not wishing no more to enter into the warmth,
but to endure the cold breeze of the outside.
The cold hard cement ground.
That finds itself to welcome into her heart
Over and over again...
Originally posted by kaiy037
Nothing But A BreezeAnd she lies in the cold,
Unable to go inside,
Or rather,
Not wanting to.Not obtaining the will
to have her legs lead her to the inside,
The warmth of a home,
Few today can enjoy without worry,
Calling to her,
but with the cold hold or something,
that isn't meant to be known,
holding her distance still.She wishes for the unmaginable.
She hopes she could have what others fear,
and what some recieve without wanting.
She wants what's not there to be given and recieved,
but what's there to just happen.She wishes she could be one of them
the ones that can just wander the halls,
like a breeze searching for an escape,
unnoticed and not cared much for.
but she's too social to be so.She wants what she cannot have,
she gets what she does not need
and she gives more than she herself has.As the warmth of a home is none more than a welcoming sort,
this warmth is warm,
but filled with a cold more cruel than the icyest touch,
and summed up to be what some people pray for.
If not for what holds inside that home,
she would not be the one people care and love for,
she would not be the one trying to keep things in check.But what is held inside that home,
What's made her to be all she can
Is what makes her feel as alien as a speck of ice in a vast sizzling desert.
She does not want what it offers,
For it only offers what makes her worse.
The occultness of what's behind these,
are what causes her to lie outside in the cold,
not wishing no more to enter into the warmth,
but to endure the cold breeze of the outside.
The cold hard cement ground.
That finds itself to welcome into her heart
Over and over again...
Wow.... no, not your typical style, but reallly really cool. i really like this poem, and the thing you talk of... hmmm.... makes me think 😂 good job K. 😄
Originally posted by kaiy037
Nothing But A BreezeAnd she lies in the cold,
Unable to go inside,
Or rather,
Not wanting to.Not obtaining the will
to have her legs lead her to the inside,
The warmth of a home,
Few today can enjoy without worry,
Calling to her,
but with the cold hold or something,
that isn't meant to be known,
holding her distance still.She wishes for the unmaginable.
She hopes she could have what others fear,
and what some recieve without wanting.
She wants what's not there to be given and recieved,
but what's there to just happen.She wishes she could be one of them
the ones that can just wander the halls,
like a breeze searching for an escape,
unnoticed and not cared much for.
but she's too social to be so.She wants what she cannot have,
she gets what she does not need
and she gives more than she herself has.As the warmth of a home is none more than a welcoming sort,
this warmth is warm,
but filled with a cold more cruel than the icyest touch,
and summed up to be what some people pray for.
If not for what holds inside that home,
she would not be the one people care and love for,
she would not be the one trying to keep things in check.But what is held inside that home,
What's made her to be all she can
Is what makes her feel as alien as a speck of ice in a vast sizzling desert.
She does not want what it offers,
For it only offers what makes her worse.
The occultness of what's behind these,
are what causes her to lie outside in the cold,
not wishing no more to enter into the warmth,
but to endure the cold breeze of the outside.
The cold hard cement ground.
That finds itself to welcome into her heart
Over and over again...