Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

The Brightest Lights


Killing all the brightest lights.
I write to you this note this letter,
sitting next to that which falls straight up.
From whence, deep down from where,
the pit of my your chin hip deep despair.
You I call,
he looks directly and waits for me to my.
Every star in heavan thus was made,
when from hence I am, come know my name.
Inquire about of that of what she thinks to gain.

Blind in sudden darkness does a knowing person?
Know depending when upon what others can not know.
Why when asking, asking when of this of you.
I have known you even then before your darkness came.
When you go to sleep tonight,
and with the image of that light which burns my brain.

Submitted: Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Edited: Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (The Brightest Lights by Is It Poetry )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. A Dream Within A Dream
    Edgar Allan Poe

New Poems

  1. समनि नायथाय- 06, Ronjoy Brahma
  2. समनि नायथाय- 05, Ronjoy Brahma
  3. When I Swore, Fatima Nusairat
  4. Chess, gajanan mishra
  5. A Christmas Card From Me To You (A Littl.., mary douglas
  6. Houdini's Box, Tiffany Alexis
  7. analogy, Doyen Lingua
  8. My Eyes Cried and Begged, Fatima Nusairat
  9. I know you must get success, gajanan mishra
  10. Once Ambushed, Richard Provencher

Poem of the Day

poet Alfred Lord Tennyson

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]