Biography of Elizabeth Sheaffer
I write for myself. I'm a selfish writer... I write to express what I feel inside, what I hide away when the sun drives away the night's serene cover... I write the words I cannot express in daylight, the words I can never speak aloud... I write to make sense of myself and of the world around me. I write for release.
Elizabeth Sheaffer Poems
Can Death Come Calling If You Don'T Have...
The sky opens up before your eye And the rain comes pouring from the sky. There's an old tree tap-tap-tapping on the door; It's that tap-tap-tapping you abhor.
Alone In The Crowd
Sitting at a desk in a brightly lit room, Surrounded by people, but still so alone... Fighting a feeling of impending doom; A chill in the room that cuts to the bone.
Lost In My Dreams (Insanity Reigns)
Torn at the seams; Can't pick myself up. Lost in my dreams... But they're all full of lust.
Drops Of Crimson On The Pillowcase
Crimson Raindrops fall from a Black Sky of regret. Crimson Tears rain down the Twisted, Contorted Face of
Crimson Carpets At Dusk
You're sitting on the couch, watching TV. Wishing that you could be watching me. Wanting me only to exist. Needing nothing save one last kiss.
Lost Within Myself (Bi-Polarity Comes Kn...
Life's catastrophe Mental apathy Feeling empty, Lost, and dazed.
And The Storm Rages On
Lightning illuminates the gnarled branches Of the old tree outside the windowpane Rain trickles down the glass in clear rivulets But the storm inside is much worse than out
Seventeen candles burn so bright. Voices meld together in celebratory song.
More Than An Embrace
For the first time in nearly two weeks, I saw your face today. You smiled when you saw me, And pulled me so close,
The time of your arrival draws e'er nearer. I look to the west in search of your face. None others' words would I hold dearer, Than thine own as my name escapes.
Affliction Most Severe (I'M Letting Go)
My body lies broken, bleeding on the floor, The very image you once claimed to abhor. But this is what you wanted, to witness all these tears. Isn't this, for so long, that which you longed to hear?
Tainted Future (Ruinous Deeds)
Your fingertips graze across my skin... Soft lips gently caress my warm flesh... Exquisite pleasure building within... A sinful lust you can't hold back...
The Last Resort
Tears well up, threatening to o'erspill these blackened lashes. Blackened; That's what society calls fashion. Little girls playing in mother's make-up. Wind, whispering through bright, green-leaved trees.
Broken Hearts Eventually Mend
I'm so sick of love And the pain it has caused. I'm drowning in tears; Will it ever stop?
Must poems always be about love, or hate?
Must they always mention God, or fate?
I want to write a poem that's new
But something you can still relate to.
There once was a bird, sitting upon a limb.
A small, baby bird; his mother behind him.
He peered o'er the nest, to the ground far below.
His mum, she pushed him off, and watched him go