Life has its strict
Limitations options
The older you get
The fewer options
You have
But only when it comes
To conventional action
We can always break that
Into something different
Get out of your frame
A Place To Rest The Mind
A Place To Rest The Mind
Life has its strict
Limitations options
The older you get
The fewer options
You have
But only when it comes
To conventional action
We can always break that
Into something different
Get out of your frame
the world turns on a word
I'm just another dreamer...
let's mend the broken
Raku pottery, vases, and gifts
Aspergers syndrome, bipolarity, photography, art, poetry.
Rare Poetry and Food stories
Rhymes and Reasons
Making People Cool and Author
Talking about comedy that is not worth talking about
Personal stories with a dash of science and poetry
to be worth sharing
A monthly event... LAFeedbackFilmFestival.com
Get me the wings
Enjoying Life In New Ways
It is all about words. Your words are enough to shatter someone's heart. Your words are enough to make a broken heart unbroken. Words have the power to change your life perspectives.
P_KAY
Because one subject isn't enough
Infant Feeding. Breastfeeding. Parenting. Some rambling. Mostly fueled by caffeine.
Thought Catalog is a digital youth culture magazine dedicated to your stories and ideas.
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Schibolet 
Just as it speaks to me, a wonderful poem of leaving the bubble and exploring what lies out there. Nice job. The picture matches the poem so well!
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Thank you again 🙂 I was thinking what you said about technique and I believe that it is a combination of the urge to write the is underneath our choices of style in combination with our abilities
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Agreed. But I guess choices are shaped by the outside quite a lot of times. So yes, choices do shape poems but I guess the surrounding has an important role in them too. Again, views may always vary but what connects us writers is the way we pour out our emotions in the form of poems, may they be inspired by our thoughts, choices, circumstances or abilities. So yeah, in the end, a poem is a poem, and it would be rather foolish to consider it as something more than that.
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