When I write, I clear my mind...
I do and say everything that I was afraid to accept while awake, in my Conscious self, surrounded by the world around me...
I guess my explaination of it doesn't make sense on account of, when I write, I am awake, in my Conscious self, and surrounded by the world around me...
But most of what I know and what I am doesn't make sense either...
That's what's beautiful about it all, I suppose...
I discover things as I go... even if explainations are down to a minimum...
I am a human that's being...
What more can I say?
Alot I guess.
But I'm just one of those people that has to be known through ... more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
- Love Like Stone
- Fade Away
- something to remember
- a seeming less heart
- tender pulse:
- We're still in March
- Sometime in May,
- Tomorrow dried in the hopes of reaching ...
- I am not a bird;
- Breathing Out
- Faithful Companion
- The stone beneath my skin melts,
- On my way out
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)