Poetry from a long-lost and once forgotten notebook, recently discovered; totally unedited.
2004-01-26 21:07:15 ET

The World Stops
`The world stops spinning, and you feel your heart throb. You feel her skin as well as you feel yours. You feel `through' her skin. You want to scream, laugh, sob all at the same time.

Knowing with every fibre of your being that you were made for her arms; the longing, the ache in your soul becomes unbearable. A night in her arms is your entire lifetime.

Everything inside of you calls out to her, sreams her name. All of this from a meeting of eyes and a smile, or a simple brush of her hand acrossed your flesh.'

Beneath my lips
`I long to feel her flesh beneath my lips.
The softness of her skin brushing acrossed my cheek.

My heart pounds in my chest,
When she is near,
My head spins,
I all but swoon

She fills me with such incredible passion
Her kiss is what I dream about

One caress from her is worth my life,
Though she does not even know my name.'

Take my hand
`Take my hand, my beautiful one
Come Share my quest with me
Let me shower you with my undying love
And help me through the cold lonely nights.

I know I don't deserve your love
You're so beautiful and innocent, radient and pure
You are an Angel that walks among our filthy streets
A shining ray of light in a grey and blackened world.

And I, I am just a wretched poet without a trace of hope
A cursed man, abandoned by the gods and tormented by fate
A viruious man, who's virtue's have faded
A passionate man, who's soul has withered and shrank.

I cannot offer you gold or jewls
Nor land, nor money, nor status do i have
All i can offer is my eternal love
My to total devotion to you, my unending affection.

So walk with me along the path
Share in my life, and let me be yours
For though we may die without a cent to our name
No one could ever possibly love you like I.'

No one ever truely loves the Poet

`No one ever truely loves the Poet,
True, they may love his work,
They might even think they see him through his words,
But they only see what he willingly shows.
They never really see the awful wretchedness,
Caused by years of isolation and pain, Of being used and abused,
By giving freely of himself and never recieving anything but scorn.

No one sees the true desperation,
His cries for help all go unnoticed
Destined to go through live alone and miserable.

Even the very few who try to love him, they don't realize how much she needs.
Always seeming clingy or overly affectionate,
But they don't see just how alone he is.'


2004-01-26 21:08:26 ET

Nummy stuff.

2004-01-26 21:09:38 ET


2004-01-26 21:10:16 ET

Nummy. I taste words. And smell colors. Nummy. I like.

2004-01-26 21:13:26 ET

Well, I am quite flattered. it is old, unpolished, was long forgotten, and totally not even edited since i scribbled them down. i just transcribed them the best i could, the other evening (when i found the notebook in an old box). it's the type of work i'm usually quite reluctant to share, and have a very low oppinion of.

2004-01-26 21:14:47 ET

I can't say more than I like. That's my highest compliment that I have. =D

2004-01-26 21:15:25 ET

once again, i am flattered beyond expression.

2004-01-26 21:15:55 ET

YAY Sam and his ability to Woo with words. Much adoration to you my love...much much!

2004-01-26 21:17:09 ET

Bah, i say, to all of you! Bah! =P

2004-01-26 21:18:13 ET

Don't make me take my love back. *thinks* Okay so I can't do that...but don't make me pounce and tickle you

2004-01-26 21:22:10 ET

Oh no, no.. what ever you do, don't throw me in the `Briar Patch'.... LOL!

2004-01-26 22:02:21 ET

the senses of a hopeless romantic... i like the poems... i tend to write mostly about that kinda stuff 2...
i have to really focus when i try to write of other things... cause it always tends to turn into a love/relationship scenerio

2004-01-27 11:26:10 ET

I love finding old and near-forgotten writings...

thankyou for sharing them, dearling.

2004-01-27 13:30:48 ET

`tis always all my pleasure.

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