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Source: google images/Edited por me
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Source: I wrote it.
posted by irena83
In this room of despair,
A man is sitting with demons
Inside his head.
In this room of memories,
Only death breathes,
A man lives with gloom,
A man dies with sadness.

Inside his eyes ,
In that depth of blue terror,
Years of despair are seen,
Years of struggle are painted.

His life,
Cruel and lonely,
Was never a joy,
amargo, amargos and sad
This man lives with demons
Of past.

I can see the pain that
Is painted on his face,
Silhouettes of past that
Play this música of terror,
I see only darkness and despair
Inside the eyes of a sad man.
This sadness is mine too,
This poem is written por the curse of
The children who will never meet happiness,
This poem is a poem of a sad man,
A man who sees nothing but greys.
posted by babyjay
true friends are hard to come by...
yet when tu catch them tu feel like tu can fly...
tu trust them,
amor them,
and talk of future...
tu know that they will never lie...
and siguiente to them tu stand side por side...
tu amor them,
hug them,
and share smiles with eachother...
oh how it feels when tu know your important...
that tu know tu have some one to comfort you...
tu hold their hand,
skip down the street,
and feel no defeat...
true friends are hard to come by...
but hold them tight so away they dont fly.
posted by Lovetreehill
Be quiet and más discreet, O my Grief.
You cried out for the Evening; even now it falls:
A gloomy atmosphere envelops the city,
Bringing peace to some, anxiety to others.

While the vulgar herd of mortals, under the scourge
Of Pleasure, that merciless torturer,
Goes to gather remorse in the servile festival,
My Grief, give me your hand; come this way

Far from them. See the dead years in pasado de moda, antigua gowns
Lean over the balconies of heaven;
Smiling Regret rise from the depths of the waters;

The dying Sun fall asleep beneath an arch, and
Listen, darling, to the soft footfalls of the Night
That traits off...
continue reading...
posted by saracomet
I bought a pet banana
and I tried to teach him tricks,
but he wasn't any good at
catching balls o fetching sticks.

He could never catch a Frisbee,
and he wouldn't sit o speak,
though we practiced every afternoon
and evening for a week.

He refused to shake o wave o crawl
o beg o take a bow,
and I tried, but couldn't make him bark
o get him to meow.

He was terrible at playing dead.
He couldn't jump a rope.
When he wouldn't do a single trick
I simply gave up hope.

Though I liked my pet banana,
I returned him with regret.
Boy, I sure do hope this watermelon
makes a better pet.
added by OakTown_Queen
added by OakTown_Queen
added by OakTown_Queen
added by OakTown_Queen
added by OakTown_Queen
added by OakTown_Queen
added by OakTown_Queen