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Keylan Roberts Poems
Ignorant bliss, that fearless notion. Prepares me for nothing, in this endless ocean. Tranquil hopes, with gray mingled in. Captures my faith, spawns my unborn sin.
Who I Am Is Who I Will Be
Once again I find myself, in a dark sea lost. Too deep to see, too deep to think, too deep to swim across. As I fight to live, I find myself entangled in the moss. How did I end up lingering here, surrounded by such loss?
'As if you could kill time, without inju...
Nature's breath, that spine-tingling chill. The sound of the ground, crawling with life. Stillness and chaos, wolves stalking the kill. A careful endeavor, to escape the strife.
Indifference: emotional death Reality: a dying breath Fear: misunderstanding Hope: only standing
Finding a cure for the sickness inside. Attempting to divide the defining line. When the world grows dark from the nightmare below. And the sun doesn't shine so a flower can't grow.
At the start of the day, as the trees drift and sway. As you put your hand on me, and make everything okay. You rule my life, and my death. You give me gifts, yet take away my breath.
Sunrise til' Sunset
I watch as a new day begins, and all my fears are placed into the glowing sphere from which they came. The morning brings dew, and birds that are singing. And the eyes of the bat, are ever now sinking. I conjure you, as I put you in the sky.
Comments about Keylan Roberts
(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)
Ignorant bliss, that fearless notion.
Prepares me for nothing, in this endless ocean.
Tranquil hopes, with gray mingled in.
Captures my faith, spawns my unborn sin.
Wading through thoughts, an absinthe filled flask.
The questions remain, to the answers I ask.
A glance in my mirror, is a shot in the ground.
It shakes and it quakes, but no blood is found.
A riddle some say, to life's puzzling test.
The dead must awake, so the living can rest.
The birds must fall, so the sky can remain.
And the pain increase, so the fluid can drain.
There is blood ...