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Some pieces will sing to your present, others may echo of your past, and the rest could whisper of your future.

Lang Leav

I have buried myself so deep in my words that sometimes I can’t tell if I am the person writing or the one hiding between the lines.
LANG LEAV

Bury Hide Myself Person Poem Word Writing
Some pieces will sing to your present, others may echo of your past, and the rest could whisper of your future.
LANG LEAV

Future Past Pieces Present Whisper Yourself
My father was a house,my mother was a home.
LANG LEAV

Family Father Home Mom Myself
There is one who you belong to, whose love- there is no song for.
LANG LEAV

Love Relationship Song True Yourself
I wish I could put a pen in your hand and gently remind you how the world has given you poetry and now you must give it back.
LANG LEAV

Hands Poetry Reminder Yourself
He and I When words run dry, he does not try, nor do I. We are on par. He just is, I just am, and we just are.
LANG LEAV

Existence Myself Silence
Don’t let them tell you that your pain should be confined to the past, that it bears no relevance to the present.
LANG LEAV

Pain Past Present Yourself
When in truth, it is the transparency that kills you. The pain of seeing through to something you can never quite touch.
LANG LEAV

Pain Quite Touch Transparent Truth Yourself
It was pure bliss and absolute torture at the same time. I was in daze, as if my brain had suddenly packed up and gone on vacation. I could barely string words together in a sentence.
LANG LEAV

Bliss Brain Myself Togetherness Torture Vacation
The time may not be prime for us, though you are a special person. We may be just two different clocks, that do not tock, in unison.
LANG LEAV

Clock Different Person Prime Time Yourself
Sometimes I am caught between poetry and prose, like two lovers I can’t decide between. Prose says to me, let’s build something long and lasting. Poetry takes me by the hand, and whispers, come with me, let’s get lost for awhile.
LANG LEAV

Hands Lost Lover Myself Poetry
Where are you?” She asked. “I have been searching all my life.” “Stop looking for me,” Love replied, “and I will find you.
LANG LEAV

Finding Life Love Myself Searching
Hands are no longer hands. They are caresses. Mouths are no longer mouths. They are kisses. My name is no longer a name, it is a call. And love is no longer love – love is you.
LANG LEAV

Call Hands Kiss Love Name Relationship Yourself
And I sighed and wept for what could not be–and for all that could have been.
LANG LEAV

Cry Dream Future Myself Sadness
Our love story comes to me in waves, in movie stills and long summer afternoons spent under a sky of incessant blue. I still think of your eyes in flashes of color, your hands in a frenetic, feverish blur-your smile a mosaic of light and shadow. I still find myself lost in those moments of abstraction.
LANG LEAV

Abstraction Hands Light Love Moments Ourselves Shadow Wave
It should be my right to mourn someone who has yet to leave this world but no longer wants to be part of mine.
LANG LEAV

Leave Mourn Myself Right World

Some pieces will sing to your present, others may echo of your past, and the rest could whisper of your future.

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Some pieces will sing to your present, others may echo of your past, and the rest could whisper of your future.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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