Biography of Amanda Swindahl
I have graduated high school, and i am currently in college. I love to write. It is that one subject i always took an interest in, and I learned how to write a poem in eighth grade. I had a wonderful teacher in 9th grade that taught me no limitations to what you have to say in a poem, that free verse is a real poem, not something that has to ryhme to sound good. It just has to flow. I find it alot easier to write about tough situations because they are what keeps a suspense for me when i read others. I guess you could call it a place where i can be free and think for myself and not have to worry about what others think of me or my poetry, how can you truely judge a poem, it either touches you with a lasting impression, or it slightly draws you in enough to read about it.
I dont think my poems are anything out of the ordinary, but i do have my own style. Its an art, and i would do anything to create my own masterpiece! -Amanda
Amanda Swindahl Poems
She stands so eleganty, she stands so pretty, pretty girl is suffering, pretty girl is drowning,
Written by: Amanda Swindahl Little girl with dark hair, and freckles.
Touch me with your whispering words, Let me feel your soft spoken truth.
Take a deep breath. A breath to fragile to take, lost in the moment of our memories,
Lost in Ideal Perfection
Sunken cheeks, bones to weak. How is this perfection really ever measurable?
Ignite these Feelings; here comes the flame, ready to manipulate its every move, Ageing on a wick, but it dances without boundaries. Tell the tears to feel no pain, the secrets and no shame.
This and That
I don't have words, I have pictures and memories. Do you remember this, I am holding onto that,
Adrenalin Tears... She floats.
Catch a wave, cast your fears away,
Battle ground rekindled
Enlighten me, you struck me to the core,
Tenderly Fallen, Deprived and losing,
Written by: Amanda Swindahl Hush sounds breathe across the room,
Vicious dismal floats, An eerie silence breathes,
Written By: Amanda Swindahl Patterned sand beneath my feet, Brown sugar between my toes, Big blue rolls in stealing it away,
Stitches without Mending
Written by: Amanda Swindahl
Time is temperamental, a robbery aggrieved, an irrational motive.
Down, Down, Down.
Time is stealth, a mockery of the heart,
Sneaking up on you just as you realize it's too late.
Time slips through you with a grasp of your heart,
Down, Down, Down.
a flood of vengeance soaking through.