Biography of Talia Anziliero
My name is Talia, it sounds like 'Til-lee-ah', I not really sure as to what I should right in here. I'm really uncomortable talking about myself. But I like meeting knew friends, though i'm not as sociable as my sister. At the moment I have two really close friends that I can share almost everything with.
Poems as I see them are like art; instead of painting your perspective and musically notifying other people, you express yourself through words and phrases. They can help ease the pain, help you to remember/ forget or just express your view and feeligs towards a particular subject/ event. I believe it is/becomes a part of who you are, it lets others see (sorta) what you see. It can help someone understand. But anyway I hope you enjoy reading my poems, and if not CONSTRUCTIVE critism would appreciated. But bagging me out for the hell of it I shall not, can not and will not withstand. I am very strong willed and if I feel as if I have been wronged or upset my only (before hand) advice is: Run...Run for your life and hope I don't find in my fit of rage.
Talia Anziliero Poems
The Jagged Bow
The jagged bow was ripped and torn, Thrown around and tossed ashore, And there it lay twisted and mangled, a waiting for salvation.
Saviour In Doubt
We say we want peace, But is that true? They say we must fight for me and you, Must blood really bring peace or just peace of mind for you?
Dear Friend, Thanks for all your support when I needed it most, Just don’t get cocky now, no need to boast, We went together like butter on toast,
Like the strongest oak, You refuse to bow down No matter how tempest the storm You stand strong, tall and proud
In the dead of the night I heard a tap and a call, She was homeless, no memory at all. Her face was young but filled with misery,
The whispering of the trees, The silence and buzz of animal activity, Is now just a distant long gone memory.
The warriors weep for the fallen dead The fallen dead weep for joy. The pain they left behind
The blazing heat, The cool bitter air, The whispering of the waves, And I am flying free.
In the pale light of the autumn moon her hair danced like flowing ribbons and the leaves of the trees. The wind seemed to whistle along with her sad tune of song, it sounded as if her very soul was weeping as she sang. Against the pale burning shadow of her cheeks a tear, solitary but strong escaped from her November eyes. As the tear left her cheek to land heavily upon the earth next to bare and bleeding feet, her song of sorrow became the woeful wail of finality, and as her song completed she turned to face the dark shadow of existence. “I’m ready” whispered she, her voice of a heroine meeting the end with understanding.
The Wayward Wolf And Winter Owl
The wayward wolf howls to the misty moon, His heart filled with sorrow, That he spills into dead of night, And echoes into silence of another cry,
You must first suffer in darkness, Before you can seek the light, So why do you suffer alone? Little poppit do not cry,
You must first suffer in darkness,
Before you can seek the light,
So why do you suffer alone?
Little poppit do not cry,
Please, I shall be your friend and together we can seek the light.
Look there! Look quick! do you not see?
We must first suffer in darkness before we can seek the light.
So why, young child do you cry,