I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut, my weakness is that I care too much. And my scars remind me that the past is real. I year my heart open just to feel.
- Scars by Papa Roach more »
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Katelyn Ross Poems
The Butterfly flies, Into the morning sky We are all happy and joy filled. But then the Butterfly leaves
A Book's Life
Books hold so many things, Poems, lyrics, and storys. Storys of people, plants, animal, and so much more, But it holds its own story to.
Pretty little ponies
All the pretty little ponies, Blacks and gray, Purples and bash, All the pretty little ponies,
Love is crimson like blood Knowone can excape it, And knowone can have it forever One day it will break beyond repair
Death is anger, agony and despair Death is white like a ghost; nothing to kill or die for Death is bitter and hauntes you in your sleep Death is something knowone can excape
The people in the town
The bass plays, My heart in numb, I can't open my eyes, My lips won't move,
In the night
In the dark of the night, When my soul saw no light, I had tears in my eyes. So I looked to the sky,
During the white winter, When the warmth was all gone, Jack Frost flew down from the mountains, All night long.
Please someone help me
I'm crying inside, I just want to die, Please someone help me, I lost my light,
Blood on the ground, Tears in our eyes, We may have won, But so many lost their lives,
People come, And people go, Just like the snow. And when we see them again,
The lord is like the air around us, With out it we wouldn't survive. He starts and ends this day, The Earth which we call home,
The cross is a symbol, It reminds us of Jesus and all that he did for us, All the things he sacrificed for us, To open the gates of heaven for us,
Comments about Katelyn Ross
(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)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
The Butterfly flies,
Into the morning sky
We are all happy and joy filled.
But then the Butterfly leaves
And we give up our fight.
Then we remember the light,
So we fight.
We fight for music, poetry and more,
We fight until the light shines once more.