Sweet Dreams Stolen

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That darkness that creeps up on your sleep
And steals away those dreams once sweet.
The Chaos of those dreams are unrest at
Thoughts that were buried inside my heart.
Now they unveil themselves in the dark
Scattering the gentleness of sleep apart.
But what do these nightmares that come mean
When they slither into my mind and devour dreams?
There is no denying the façade that nightmares have
As they plague the night with their sleepless mark.
But they deny their existence when morning comes
And hide in the shadows of the room’s dark.

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Poetic Senses

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Note: Sorry I’m in a poetic word use mood! Just my muse today~

There are five senses that most humans use, but there are
Other senses that people can find if they look within themselves.
There is what some call the sixth sense, the telepathic sense
And many other senses, but once sense may not have been
Recognized by others to be a sense, and that is the Poetic Sense.

Poet’s have a different way of writing.
They writ from their heart, their soul, their mind.
Poet’s can become the instruments of description
When describing what the day is like or a round ball.

They can taste what they have never tasted before
They can see what has never been seen
They can hear the songs never heard
They can feel many different textures
And they can smell all things including paradise.

A poet doesn’t regard the world as a mere place
But a place that holds secrets, dreams, desires
That everyone has felt at one point or another
Even when people feel that no one understands
The Poet can make them feel what they know.

So when you feel today is purple, or vivid
Or that the sky is raining tears from heaven
Or the heart beats like an excited drum
Or the haiku of the day is through spring
Then realize that the Poet’s speaking to you
From their Poetic sense that few understand.

Poet’s Distant Memories

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Distant memories drowned by the ocean’s roar
Passionate filled air with salty scents of dreams
Tickling the brain causing a motion of memory
To jog out into the foam of the brain’s desire.

Where can the poet find their imagination
When the world is full of undeniable inspiration
Of joyous times, of saddening times that come
Of times that make the world a poet’s playground.

Poets do not look away from their own feelings
After all if a Poet does not put their feelings in
Then the words they produce provide futile meaning
To what they wish to say that they normally cannot.

Distant memories may come and go but words
The Poet writes for themselves, for others
For the whole world to understand how the
World holds emotions similar to each other.

Welcome to Poetic Brew!

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Welcome to Poetic Brew, a place where writing and thoughts are spread out slowly like the leaves of a growing plant.

I have been writing since I was little, but I feel that my writing could improve even more. The stage it is in is not to my own desired stage, and I plan to use this blog to find that stage for my words to stand upon.

In this blog I’ll be discovering my own voice, trying to find what feels most comfortable for me. I already know that Poetry is my strong suit, but I also want to improve my Prose. So you’ll find written works in Prose format as well.

Please enjoy this blog and feel free to comment, just remember to be civil! Ciritiscm si fine but bahsing is never okay. After all, if every writer wrote the same it would be rather dull wouldn’t it? And I already admit I need to improve in certain areas of writing.
Have a glorious day or evening depending on your time!
~Melusine