Wednesday, December 2, 2009


The are a hundered butterflies and birds,
Fluttering inside me.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Fatal Beauty

Autumn is such a strange season.
It masks death with beauty.
Just when it becomes the most beautiful...
That beauty can only last for a day,
Then slowly,
Death comes.
Death turns the landscape into a colorless world.

The Dreaded Month

November is a rainy dreary month
Who all seem to dread

It drips and drips and drips
Upon all our heads

It is bleak and brown
Dark and Dim

Making our thoughts
Gloomy and Grim

Thursday, October 29, 2009


(Note: I normally do not write poems that rhyme, but I thought I would give it a try, tell me what you think.)

There are explosions of color,
The trees are giving their all,
They are pressing themselves further,
Before their leaves fall.

For this is there last chance
To show what makes beauty, beautiful
It puts the beholder in a trance
The trees are quite dutiful
To this act that makes life all the more so beautiful.

It is a sad season
In which trees give up their leaves
For it is the reason
That the cold wind and weather both become thieves.

The trees shall lie naked
Until the sweet breeze of spring,
Which is oh so sacred
Blows and makes the trees sing.

Life shall begin again
Things shall go on.
Trees will once again attain
The life they thought was forever gone.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009


(If you noticed, this poem is also used as my description on my profile, I hope you like it!)

Sometimes the world seems to be spinning slower.
You are waiting
Holding your breath.
Watching as time goes by...
Then suddenly something happens...
Something that makes your world faster.
You are suddenly flying.
Nothing can touch you.


Dawns breath is sweet and clean,
Yet it still holds some of the past evenings chill.
Which is soon to be replaced by days warm embrace.

Dawns light is soft and subtle,
Yet it wakes all that it touches.
It reminds them of the day to come,
All the things yet to be done.

June's Last Dusk

The cold hands of night are grasping at the air,
Trying to take hold of it,
Slowly winning the fight,
As it always does.

It's darkness is creeping in,
So slowly,
And with such stealth,
You don't even relies that it is dark until you take a second look.

The birds are all singing their fair well parting songs,
Not only to the day, but to the Days of June
It is their last song to grace June till another year has past.