Amelia Murray

Amelia Murray Poems

I felt like writing a poem about life
but then something else caught my eye
little Bow-Peep going far far astray.
...

Circles of emotions.
Doubts that are empowering,
is a flame warm?
Does the snow mean winter?
...

My walls are of glass.
The Lord has washed them,
They are the purest that they have ever been.
My glass used to be brown with filth.
...

Echoes
Echoes in the dark

Teeth being the main attraction.
...

Stars are bright in a moonless sky.
Grass frosty in the early morning dew
The ocean water is lapping the sand
as if it will never see it again
...

Death has a strange appearance,
He comes to reap your soul,
before your thoughts can construct.
you sway back and forth in a black void,
...

She stands by a frosted window.
Snow lays on her lover, Ground.
She's looking into a lighted room,
the warmth keeps the frost demons out.
...

One day follows the next,
Time is relative.
Life is your making.
Your tongue slithers.
...

Conjuring up yourself.
Talking,
but the words are empty.
...

Witches pick out their best masks.
Ghouls get their best suits.
Vampires sharpen their teeth
to the point of perfection.
...

11.

Something stirs in my thoughts.
A layer of fog covers my mind.
Gloss fills my eyes.
My hands feel numb.
...

It has been eons since we've met.
We have each grown a little older and wiser.
We have traveled through various hearts and many losses,
but we still yearn for a gentle peck.
...

Ever wonder what is actually real.
What could be the reason we feel.
Why do we sometimes not understand
and what reason is there to always stay on land.
...

I could feel the Hole in my chest.
There is now one less to carry on your family crest.
How i wished this time would never come.
No one was here to stop your heart from giving the final drum.
...

I take it back,
saying love hurts the most.
A dying heart
and tears of blood.
...

Empty messages.
Eyes spilling over with tears.
Fingers set to a purpose.
Mouths turning to familiar positions.
...

Life unwinding...
always new people,
are any true?
...

I am now a lonesome being,
waiting.
Waiting for forever to arrive.
...

Ragged edges.

They hurt when you touch them.
Drawing drips of blood on impact.
...

20.

We break inside.
Dragged away from our underwater homes.
Exposed to heat to harden us,
Our inners being refuges for a translucent house.
...

Amelia Murray Biography

So I have experienced some years of life. I have tried. I have failed. I have lived. Not died yet, but have imagined it. My mind is not a very bright place and I like it like that. I have been known to be quite 'out there'. I take it that I do not have to explain myself to another poet, these things, feelings and emotions are why a lot of us start writing. Start wanting to change things or escape things. It is why we create our own worlds and walk blindly in reality. My heart beats for my inner worlds. Reality is a strange place for me, it is too happy at moments and others too sad, it doesn't have a balance. It is a scale that keeps tipping from one side then to the other, but I guess that is what makes the world interesting.My poems are rather different, but many poets would probably say the same. Its the eyes you look at the poems with that changes.)

The Best Poem Of Amelia Murray

R.I.P Little Bow-Peep

I felt like writing a poem about life
but then something else caught my eye
little Bow-Peep going far far astray.

No calls of help or sorrow are heard.
For little bow-peep had wandered away.

Now it comes to pass that a big ugly lizard,
found little Bow-Peep walking alone.
He stopped by the corner and gave her a grin,
not of affection but more of a win.

She popped up her head and gave a slight nod.
This is what happens on the streets after dark

The lizard perused little bow-peep
up the large hills and through the low rivers.
Past the big forests and into the tunnels.

The very next morning after nightmares of girls.
The sheriff was woken by the fuss of his horse.
A paper was staples to the back of a pole.
'Little Bow-Peep missing' was all.

He mounted his steed and road far away,
trying to find the little stray.
He road over mountains and into the rivers.
He passed great forests and the depth of the tunnels.

There was still a single place where the little might be.
He road long and hard to find the key.
To the secret door in the wooden oak tree.

The key was large with a big silver tip.
It fit in the door without much fit.
The door swung wide open and the sheriff stood still.

Little Bow-Peep was filling the wall.
Her sash on the floor with deep stains of red
and her eyes on the counter as if looking for bread.

The sheriff turned to exit the room.
When a stranger stepped out of the horrible gloom.

“Little Bow-Peep was a nice surprise,
but you are the dinner that suits my eyes.”

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