# addiction # disapointement # life # heart # truth # suffering # sadness # pain # happiness # empty # mistakes # fate # time # difference # madness # theone # learninglove #dreams # poetry # longing

To You

We've  been through so many changes,

My Love,

Me and you.

Dark to light,

Light to dark.

Death in life,

Life in death,

To be born anew.

The only constant,

My love,

Has been you.

I thank you for your love,

And dedication.

I couldn't have made it without you.

I thank you most of all for being so wonderful,

For being you.

~All the Little Things~

I'm haunted by the things I didn't make you do

All those little things

As if you knew

But my melting heart is turning blue

Flooded with tears shed over you 

Why does it have to mean so much?

Why do I feel I've known your touch?

I've lost and you have won

I looked into your eyes and saw God 

No you don't have to believe it

I know I'm not worthy to receive it

They must all see the same

Who am I to blame?

But truth hurts

And this is just a game

Destined to end the same

And then

Who am I to blame?

 

Happy

I always wanted to be happy, with a loyal happy friend, a cheerful family and be happy til the end. But happy's not always good. It's impossible to smile, especially for me. It's been a while, holding myself together, things are falling apart, I'm just falling... deeper, deeper into darkness. No one to care, no one to scream for, no one is there. How could I be happy with nothing to be happy for, I'm falling again.

 

 

by Guillermo Granados

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I hope you guys like my  poem. Write comments if you would like and enjoy!

ABSURD MYTHS

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Crossing the divine, 
I ask the marigolds 
to return to the dust. 

The gods were angry, 
and dead would not speak 
and the living were dead. 

I am now heading towards― 
the mute bells, disbelieving― 
the great enlightment. 

Rebuilding what was not true. 
A dream will start telling 
the price of the inflicted wounds. 

I am not sure: 
who were at fault. 
The letters? 
or the words?

THE STERILITY

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Becoming scattered, 
the winged visitors 
in my chest. 

Is there a home― 
for sane thoughts in the jungle― 
of unthruths? 

How long I will 
continue my journey 
in search of grass?

Curses Too Critic/ Invocations From The Soul- Part One

Reverse thinking, writing blindly,
mental skydiving; loving madly
throughout the night...burning
dreams away, another soft
parade has begun, a new dawn
spun-

 

A new flame burns the morning
oil creating clouds in the hour
glass; another digital bath will
electrocute her soul; the first
bath burned out our eyes...
stoned immaculately-

 

Accurately impaired vision, I 

am in the driver's seat, no help

too light my fire; too high too

kiss the sky, I will continue

writing curses and invocations

under the wire-

 

While she sleeps, my mind
wonders, returns, then wonders
again...somewhere, I do not 

know! The crystal ship is ready

to set sail again; strange people

in the corridors; excuse my

confusion, I am walking thru the

halls of mirrors-

 

Converse with my reflection,
attracting attention to myself,
burning the glass of time with
God's fire; sins are my desire-

 

It is 8:55AM with heavy eyelids;
people's dilated voices confusing
the voices in my head, shadows
dance under the sun; if I sleep
now I will miss the end of
yesterday, the return of the
monster...the father I am, the
unknown poet I have become.

 

Soulkriti©®2014

 

SCARRING

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The pungent smoke. 
Someone was burning 
the wet rhymes. 



A wilted rose 
on the red lips of dawn, 
facing the moon. 



The malicious 
darkness, you drink, 
to welcome the sun.

WALKING SHADOWS

Folder: 
Satish Verma

A cherry legacy 
and the orange pick. 
Let me go wild. 



Embellishing 
the rock, with flowers, 
for a golden fruit. 



A journey, for 
the comfort of slopes, 
on the clear lake.

Satish Verma

INTRIGUING

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The wind was black 
and I wanted to make an eye contact 
with the unknown. 
Following the stars 
in midnight― 

there was something called 
desire, in clean moon, 
untying the knots― 
in breast. The truth 
was not in kernel, 

it was in the flowing veins 
of the leaves; sun, trapped 
in green carbon. The― 
wordless poem dousing 
the fire between the cinders. 

The cosmic door opens, shuts. 
The bird song covers your tracks.