haha poetry is fun

i dont like this one though 

(Untitled)~

ruins, dusty, dead and cold

wandering, lost, so alone

what happened here, what caused

my world to come crashing

oh, help, i think im falling

broken cities, empty hearts

where have you gone, my love

what happened here, what caused

my world to come crashing

oh, help, i think im falling

and darkness lifts, you come and say 

but we can build it up again, 

we can pick it up again

i will help heal your heart, my love

the ending sucks oigeduiegf

When the sky bleeds gold and stains the sea,

When the land is painted with cloud-pearl dust,

When the rivers turn an emerald sheen,

'Tis then I'll know to do that which I must. 

Rain falling,

Artistry in it’s methodical melencholy.

In creeps the sun,

Now a curve of color fills the sky.

But with the drip-dropping of sadness remaining, 

Opening the memory of

Water falling, the weeping of the sky.

i wonder what lies in the space between

pen and paper

the words and thoughts that 

fill the gap of 

what is said

and what somone truly wanted to say.

Depression is like a flame:

I can grab onto some driftwood and escape,

But only for a short while, and by then it's too late;

Spiralling down again, burning away the effectiveness

of anything that used to bring me happiness;

What's left now? Even when I know I should feel warmth

from the blaze, there's nothing left but my own cold, empty gaze.

The only thing I seem to gain, is a torch that exposes yet more pain,

Things that others would never see, by that wretched flame are illuminated for me;

Each day knowing that the inferno will consume

all my oxygen, eat away at me day after day, yet again,

Which is why, at least

for me,

I say:

Depression is like a flame. 

For some reason, she--

Bella-- has cryptically said

These words: Vu I am. 

Fun fact: this poem was inspired by a New Yorker cover and something my grandpa said.

One with the surf~

At the place

Where land meets thrashing

Sea,

Where humans come

To be thrilled 

By the unimaginably great 

Ocean.

(We believe we rule all, yet

The Earth 

Is more than 70 percent

Water.)

That girl

Who is racing through 

White foam

And the ever-moving tide

Yes, she is one

With the surf.

I made some small edits to the last poem; it didn't seem to flow quite well, bit I'll post that later. I was to lazy to type this next one up so here's a picture. 

it remains Untitled,

nameless

amongst the thousands of words that make up

the titles of others.

so what shall i

call it,

how to address it,

when the time comes to

speak of it?

so many millions of

words,

of ideas 

and yet

it remains

Untitled 

Eee I'm starting to like poetry, I never thought I was a poet, and I still don't know if my poems are good but I really like making them! Critque welcomed!!

Darkness

Inky black

I close my eyes

I open them

The dark is the same

The dark is still dark

I can’t see.

I can’t see my own hands in front of me

When I reach out,

Hoping to grasp something,

My arms fall

Back to my side

Is the darkness

Black and empty?

This I know,

This I know with all my reasoning

Yet I start walking forward

Breaking into a run

But... 

If I run forever

I will still never know

If there is anything other than

Inky black

And when I close my eyes

And when I open them

I still can’t see.