HELP AND REBLOG PLEASE.
if you do one thing today, fucking reblog this. You could be the reason for someone surviving. It takes seconds. Do it.
Re-blogging ewe
22,811 notes
HELP AND REBLOG PLEASE.
if you do one thing today, fucking reblog this. You could be the reason for someone surviving. It takes seconds. Do it.
Re-blogging ewe
Basketball season, freshman year… those few months continue to hold my fondest memories <3
Half that team is graduating this year. I refuse to play basketball again without them by my side.
I’m in a reminiscent mood. Problem is, I can’t think without crying. I want to remember the laughter without creating tears. Relive the happiness.
What is it?
A bunch of lines with rhythm and rhyme?
A silly way to pass the time?
A cheesy thing that lovers do?
A talent that died like Langston Hughes?
It is more than that.
It is art, pictured with words.
It is music, but more than simple lyrics.
It is the dance of a pen.
It is more than spilled ink.
It is BLOOD, spilled from the wounds of a broken heart.
Every bit of feeling left in the bitterness is poured out on paper.
A poem is a picture perfect painting.
It is not a memory, nor a simple image.
It is a time machine.
To write is to create a world in which the reader can live in.
A world that was once so real…
It escapes the imagination and becomes reality once again.
Every action is seen and every emotion felt.
Poetry is the mind’s time machine.
- Poetry is the space between things.
- Poetry is the ancient tongue that wraps around words, the tacit images that sit like starving wolves over a chicken coop, waiting to find an open mind, an open door, to run through.
- Poetry is the original sin that shivers in the bottom of your lungs when a piece of art makes you speechless, or a kiss leaves you with too many words.
- Poetry is the space between the things you thought you were saying.