Posted in favorites

Romance by Edgar Allan Poe

​Romance, who loves to nod and sing

With drowsy head and folded wing

Among the green leaves as they shake

Far down within some shadowy lake,

To me a painted paroquet

Hath been—most familiar bird—

Taught me my alphabet to say,

To lisp my very earliest word

While in the wild wood I did lie,

A child—with a most knowing eye.
Of late, eternal condor years

So shake the very Heaven on high

With tumult as they thunder by,

I have no time for idle cares

Through gazing on the unquiet sky;

And when an hour with calmer wings

Its down upon my spirit flings,

That little time with lyre and rhyme

To while away—forbidden things—

My heart would feel to be a crime

Unless it trembled with the strings.

Posted in love, original

Cliche 

I guess I watch too many chick flicks

That I have no idea how to get real kicks 

Out of life, out of love

But what do I have?

Cliched words if ever there is such a word

Waiting for my prince in shining armor and with his sword

I get tired of being too romantic but then crave for it

Deep inside I do know

All I want is to be cliche in romance

Posted in favorites

Romance

Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
With drowsy head and folded wing,
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been- a most familiar bird-
Taught me my alphabet to say-
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child- with a most knowing eye.

Of late, eternal Condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings-
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away- forbidden things!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.

-Edgar Allan Poe-   

Posted in special

The Last of the Romantics

The last of the romantics,
Last of a dying breed.
A rose held in a tight grip-
A present for the thought
Of the one he loves.
The last of the romantics.
A red rose encased in barbed wire.
The last of the romantics,
One among a dying breed.
The last of the romantics-
Proud to be individual,
Hates feeling so alone.
The last of the romantics-
Dancing in the rain.
The last of the romantics-
Kissing under moonlight.
The last of the romantics-
Raging against the light,
Fighting against been torn down.

As long as romance exists there is hope,
And the last of the romantics will remain so.

-Charlie F. Kane-

Posted in original

Meant To Be Never

I want to touch the rainbow and bend with the breeze

Capture my captivated soul with endless serenity

Sing to me a lullaby, the one you sang before

Fill my tears with your breath, warm and comforting

Then leave me hanging like a leaf on the tree

Until I turn brown and decay with ease

 

I carry my voice through the rain

And tell the birds the story that never was you and I

Undone me and bury me ‘neath the ground

Where I get lost in time, perhaps forgotten

I want to dive the ocean and sing away with the stars

Where the moon awaits the smile that has left my face

 

You tear me down to pieces, like a puzzle that will never be once more

I hold your hand like holding thin air

In fact it’s nothing more than that

I fall upwards to where I once was lost

Was found, but you broke me yet you don’t even realize it

I cry dry tears of nothingness as I am used to it

And never will I ever like you’ll never ever

Be the same or different like before