Amanda May Moore
'A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music... and then people crowd about the poet and say to him: 'Sing for us soon again; ' that is as much as to say, 'May new sufferings torment your soul.'' ~Soren Kierkegaard more »
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Amanda May Moore Poems
A Blank Canvas
Blank. that is how I feel. I have no emotions to fulfill. Nothing left.
You loved me as your daughter, And I loved you just as well. The countless hugs, The immeasurable love.
I will not hate if you wanna be late it is not an easy estate to sell, I don't know the going rate
Free from the night air I look on high and say a prayer. It is time to begin yet another affair. I am awake and fully aware
I have feelings for you, and you for her, It is always the same, I really hate this game!
Put those leaves back on your branches, It is not getting any warmer out here. The colder weather is coming, But yet you are bare.
Light of New Life
Stop. Stop now. Stop worrying about failures, Distance, and scents that give no Direction.
Can I Say?
May you have all the love and joy you deserve Even though you held love from me in reserve. I am happy you have found your other part Even if it hurt someone else’s heart.
All I Want
Who do I love? This I do not know. So many feelings All lost in my head.
This is not an act. There is no contract. The truth will attract What is contrary to fact.
We are saved by grace In this life begins the race That we must keep a pace And all have a turn in last place
Calling. What is it that I am meant to do? The only answer I have, is loving You.
I love you
In the small things that make you laugh... Laughs for the pure honey full ocean Ocean of it all, is where I find my value
I'll be your Peter Pan and we can fly away off to Never Land
Comments about Amanda May Moore
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
A Blank Canvas
Blank. that is how I feel.
I have no emotions to fulfill.
Of your touch.
No color on your brush.
So I am blank.
That is no paint.
The colors have died.
And yet I survived.
But empty I am.
Yet again I am...
A Blank Canvas.