All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring.
Renewed shall be blade that was broken
The crownless again shall be king.
Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate
And though I oft have passed them by
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.
I believed that I wanted to be a poet, but deep down I just wanted to be a poem.Poems0
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep,
I am a thousands winds that blow,
I am the diamond glint on snow,
I am the sunnlight in ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I do not die.
Poetry, she thought, wasn't written to be analyzed, it was meant to inspire without reason, to touch without understanding.Writing, Poems0
A living poem had always been the words that came to mind when he tried to describe her to others.Writing, Poems, Inspiration0
The most important thing for poets to do is to write as little as possible.Writing, Poems0
What was it when I looked at you
What power has chained me through and through
And binds my heart with links so tight
I can not live without the sight - of you
Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature's law is wrong it learned to walk without having feet
Funny it seems, but by keeping it's dreams, it learned to breathe fresh air
Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else even cared