love poems
Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
Completed Portrait
I guess, Whenever I met someone, and they seem to really like me. They always find another girl with better qualities She said as she pondered about her past. Would one compare someone to a bucket of paint that drips off a cliff, individuals may not like where it lands but others find the beauty in the little droplets. Droplets of paint and different colors representing personality traits. Sensitivity, anxiety, depression, well, I feel as though I’ve landed safely in the hands of a man whose corrosion around me is something I’ve never felt before. He doesn’t just accept my droplets that fall from the paint bucket over a cliff, but he soaks up all the colors and paints a beautiful photo on a blank campus. While the other wanted me to keep my colors dimmed and weak. He was infatuated with them even at their very peak. This man never critiques who I am or what passions were, For he as always stood by me and supported me in the things I’ve wanted to endure As she painted a photo of her beloved she created a smile along the portrait of the man who loves her, A smile brighter than the sun, with hair the color of chocolate and golden brown eyes that some may compare to gold in a mine. A moonlight background that resembled the bright future they share, so there they stood holding each other close as the midnight air touched their angelic flesh. He kissed me as we knew the night came to a rest.
By harold hart8 years ago in Poets
7 Letters: Letter 1
Dear Twenty-Four Year Old You, I kind of imagined this moment, where I would bump into you and everything would make sense in my life. A moment where I could lay my eyes on you, and everything would slow down. I would take a breath and just know that everything would change. I always knew it would happen like this. Unexpected and painfully slow. Like coming into contact with something foreign yet too fascinating to look away from. And there you were. With your perfect dark hair, and those soft hazel eyes and that smile that made my heart skip a beat. That smile...it haunted me for years. I had no idea who it belonged to, but it was enough to keep a girl up at night. Everywhere I went, I compared you to every guy I saw. Strangers sipping coffee on sidewalks, mysterious men on motorcycles wearing black leather jackets, the everyday heroes that stopped crime and put out fires. Artists that painted their souls on blank canvases with worn out paintbrushes or poured their hearts out using nothing but a broken heart and an acoustic guitar. I didn't want you to be any of those faceless people.
By Sharlene Alba8 years ago in Poets
