The Backpack Of Love by illustrationsandme, literature
Literature
The Backpack Of Love
Eventually love shall win from pain Sunshine is there always after rain Eventually love will win from war I've come in my life so really far Everyone have their own dark scar Everyone can shine like a bright star Eventually dreams will come true We are equally in everything we do The backpack with love I have for you So all my dreams will soon come true Because I really believe I suppose I really believe and I'm so very close The backpack with love I've get Not everything is deep inside my head I want to follow my own healing heart I hope today with that I can start Because I hope for a world that is better I pray for a world where dreams not shatter I pray for a world where people do not fight The backpack of love makes it all alright Because this love I've share with you and me The backpack of love eventually makes me free Jill
Make You Feel Okay by illustrationsandme, literature
Literature
Make You Feel Okay
Bringing you some sunshine today I hope that the pain goes away I hope a smile on your face will stay I hope you will believe and you'll pray Giving you some feelings you'll need I hope in life you will always succeed I hope that pain doesn't make you bleed I hope the music will you feet I hope the puzzle pieces will complete I hope from many love your heart can eat I hope the cold will not scare away the heat Because that are things in life we all need I hope there will be a better brighter day I hope the music will always happily play Inside your lonely warm happy room I hope someone will take care when you feel doom In life we all need struggles to face In life we are in a human race In life we need sometimes a smiling face So to let us know we will find always Grace I hope I did brighten up your day I hope I did make you smile anyway Because sadness can not longer stay If many happiness make you feel okay Jill
Life is life in his strange way Living my life happy every day That is awesome and it is okay I'm not perfect I must say Imperfections and also flaws Deep bleeding broken scars Love deep inside me crawls I don't like hard going brawls Life is life in his up and down Life is life with his silver crown Life is like a roller coaster ride Sometimes I have to fight Sometimes I love to remember How the snow falls in December How the Autumn leaves silently fall Suddenly I understand life in his all Life is never easy it'll never be Or it depends on the way in how I see Because just throw with positivity Drink some nice warm ginger tea Life is not perfect every day So I let the music play It make me happy and feels great Music is my happy meal my feed { Jill }
rock boulder stone shoulder. bit the bucket I'm ov by softmossdreams, literature
Literature
rock boulder stone shoulder. bit the bucket I'm ov
are you invincible? A copper weight penduluming back and forth across the border? I’m trying to find my roots. See where and what I’ve put down with my feet buried in the sand. Cement sandpapered until I am nothing more than a bruise. …Sometimes I worry I will never be more than a bruise. Shift from blue to purple to yellow to green with envy at the thought of my lover. At the wrath of another. A little girl on the train was playing music from a speaker yesterday and I wanted to smash it on the floor. Prove her wrong. Prove her right. Slave to my emotions I am wrought over the coals until I can’t distinguish my back from the flames. Hard to prove me right with no aim. I don’t see where to go. I stutter and I stumble when I walk and I am worried it is forever. Much too impatient to ever sit in pleasure. I’m better at peeling my skin back. Welcome the ruby red flesh it leaves behind like an old friend. An old curse. A life lived so many times Sisyphus has nothing on me. There is no
A Rose; From the Black Petal Man’s Garden Ho, now, thru and true, I stop thee, fair maid, on whateverthoust may descend upon thee that would have you rushing at this late hour; and thru my fields no less. Pray not thee warrant a fear, for what else could fields be made for if not for trampling about. … Pardon me, your Grace, but it would seem upon fair look of thee I recant my previous abrasion and see now to give you the proper respect you deserve. So fine a Lass could only flee in such tumultuous haste and fury if she were being pursued by foul wickedness of Ideals or the corruption that spawns in all our Kind. Pray that we not see corruptions sludge on one of the Kindred, for we may have to slay both an ideology and a friend. Nevertheless, my dear lady these moments are but common concern to our kind, as I recognize thee as a thing of beauty, regardless your haste. Pray, let me offer you refuge in my hidden home, it would be of most taking to a Lady of your stature, I assure
(To be read with “The Orange” by Wendy Cope in mind.) I wish I was a dalmatian on the street corner. Oh how I miss you so. I feel my souls longing and I strike her down, feather her friend and foe. I wish I was a dalmatian on the street corner. Because then I could meet you for lunch. I wouldn't think twice, tip right and capsize myself and canoe on a hunch. I wish I was a dalmatian on the street corner. Because sometimes the day is too much. I have delivered my piece, come rest on with me I am far misfortuned in luck. . I am sad I am not sad I am happy I am am not glad I am twisted and pruned and lacking in gloom because maybe this is,, good ? It’s not what I wanted. Though now I'm not sure. It's not what I payed for. What I prayed for. Am I to hope for erasure ? Find myself in the blank spaces between my words. Holding a baited breath then letting it go without remorse or longing. Tuck into bed without bracing or calming. Leave it alone like I’m worth peace. Dig myself out this
As a child snow globes and music boxes were a delight when slender keys twisted in their pedestals provoked tinkling melodies and sometimes animated figures in a dance Now as an adult it turns out I can play those same tinkling melodies through a wooden handheld piano as my thumbs pluck metal tines to entertain others A memorial to the way certain types of music can follow us throughout our lives just in different forms