Longing
I long to feel the cold tipped blade dip into the fiery flesh that is me to be no more, and feel no more, to care no more, would be great... to reache the final stage of perfection. The level that will take me from this wretched place I call home to rid me of things I feel. It truly would be perfectA poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Really? | 0 | 12/11/2012 |
| Perfection | 0 | 12/11/2012 |
| Longing | 0 | 10/24/2012 |
| Breathe | 0 | 10/24/2012 |
| Stars | 0 | 10/24/2012 |
| Water | 0 | 10/24/2012 |
| Roses | 0 | 10/18/2012 |
| Life | 0 | 10/18/2012 |
| Feelngs of Past | 0 | 10/18/2012 |
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