Okay, so this isn't really a poem, its the lyrics to a song I wrote. Sadly it doesn't have the same effect on me as it does when the instrumental is being played in the background, but any way:

(I haven't named it yet)

Blank, Expressions cease survival,

only under doors or by the candle-light they live.

desist, barricades construct them-self's.

with the soles of others shoes them seem to fall.

words on a paper- ink from a pen.

danger from the outside- comfort from within

You glue me together,

true here are my colors,

Hope springs in my eyes

Love feeling my life.

Its more than a heart-beat you helped me on my feet

but I still cover their eyes,

Pretend its not a lie.

Dawn, leads into a new life

Gone, displaced from my old strife.

Now dipped into a stream, that covers up our seams

Swimming in the filth to fit the mold

Why are you so free?

I'll beg you on my knee's for another try

Is this really how you live your life?

You glue me together,

True, Here are my colors

The hope springs from my eyes

The loves feeling my life

Is this the real you?

How are you so true?

Trample down the way

Follow you any day.

This poem uses some of the same language I had used in Pandora's box, but it was a completely new emotion, so I wrote a new poem

Wings

My feet are glued to the earth- bound with ropes of fear and chains of conformity.

Wings of hope sprout from my shoulders. I hold the key of courage.

slowly- I unlock my fears.

My wings spread and breath in the blue sky's of opportunity.

fading into the open air.

free... free... it whispers

I am a Pandora's box.
Bound in fear, tipped with barbed edges.
The fear in me prevents me from realising the hope that good may come from this.
I am full.
I have love, hope, peace, hate, confusion and understanding twined together in an unbreakable not.
Open me.
Untie me.
You get it all or nothing.

The grey winter sky peels like eggshells,
Revealing a layer of blue and white, streaked with gold.

Stone grey grounds crumble and melt into tiny green sprouts and young budded flowers.

Miniature, delicate grass blades take their first gasps of air like infants;

breathing in life.

Warm wind spreads her wings and whispers life into the dead winter landscape,

transforming it into a bed of new life.

Spring time

Mikayla Bloomquist