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Ellen Mendez Poems
My days are not long enough But, it takes too long that i couldn't even laugh Searching things that could brings joy, But nothing to be found, not even a toy
In the silence of the skies so blue Laying in consciousness as the wind blew Reminiscing the moment of me and you In the vastness memories of undue
Pure, vulnerable as it used to be Where sweet fragrance rushing to meet by a bee White rose covered with insects and grin
In the vastness of skies above I wonder if i truly loved Soaring high to aim that crown In that constant wind that blown
The Song Of My Heart
Clashing, bubbling in the silence of nowhere Wondering were can find somewhere Where is my perfect place? Where is my desired happiness?
You are awesome, you are the best you are almost perfect your sweet smelling aroma, your frizzy drowning smile
White Rose (version II)
Pure, vulnerable, adored as it used to be, Where sweet fragrance rushing to meet by a bee White rose covered with insects and grin, Where leaves had fade, petals turn to a twain
All dust of memories bundle all knowledge The world that gathered wealth; today and future Forever life is full; satisfied, privilege Running to the next, the next page of nature
White Rose In The Red Roses
White rose singing in the garden With butterflies; nothing's a burden Happy she was in her home Until red roses come out of her lone
Is True-Friend Real?
As we take our everyday life We meet new faces in every corner of life We meet a relief, We meet a joyful borrower
What Should I Feel?
Should i be happy? Should i be lonely? Should i be angry? What should i feel?
One Most Being
On the moment that your tears would fall, On Him you should only crawl On your tongue that full of spices, On your heart that turns to pieces
He doesn't value love But love value him He's too precious when you love, But nothing in times of woe
In this world we're not destined Destiny lies in our path
(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)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
My days are not long enough
But, it takes too long that i couldn't even laugh
Searching things that could brings joy,
But nothing to be found, not even a toy
Living my life with agony and pain
Searching, seeking for a little gain
A life that has always been a blank book,
And no one even someone dared to look
Living life that has been treated well,
Is somehow a life that has always been on a dwell
Living a life that starts on success,
And now, suffering on unjust process
A life that has been curios to someones emotions
Trying to fixed ...