alexhart

I'm a nudist i like taking walks and spinning sticks. and playing video games and writing and hanging out with my mom.

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  • alexhart 10w

    Poem 62.
    Plastic.


    We hate honer,
    We loathe goodness,
    We despise greatness,
    And we have malice for contempt.
    we love the bottle outside and not the ship that dwells within.
    We love deception,
    We value greed,
    We joke about truth,
    And lie about need.
    We are plastic.
    © Alex hart.

  • alexhart 11w

    Poem 61.
    And so I rise.


    She calls to me after the sun lay upon the ground, I see her and she glimpses in my heart as her eyes slowly fade and, tears start to fall I go near and hold her in my arms.
    All I feel is her soft skin against mine as we listen to the night, no words are spoken just a glimpse of delight “a baby” she said and I cried for that is the word of love.
    As we watched the moon fall over the stars we rejoiced in our own miracle “a baby” she said again, “a baby” I say
    it is a miracle,
    when too become three. ©alexhart.

  • alexhart 12w

    Poem 60.
    Connection.


    I long for the spark a touch of a soul, a laugh with a friend, or a memory or two.
    I want that fertility of life so much to see the heartbeat of humanity to feel the earth, to breathe the sea oh, we long to be so free.
    A place without war were everything, is free a spark of sorts for all to fill.
    We need this time of wholesomeness to be all that we can do a simple life of kindness, of beauty, and connection.
    ©Alexhart.

  • alexhart 13w

    Poem 59.
    Envelope me.


    It covers my fears when I know they're near like a ghost in the light fading from all sight.

    It eases the pain of weary travel and unseen wounds, this thing called peace we do not know why.

    The embodiment is great the power overwhelming, the ghost fades out to the all-knowing.

    Peaceful thoughts rule your dreams above mountains, as you fly the peaceful thoughts and dreams like the waves turning to sea.

    Everything and everyone have peace that has no end for once so bold and truest of word seaze the night away.

    Oh, yes this peace that comes on high belongs to those who seak it, so have a heart of the purest gold and know who keeps it free, for damned are those eternally who make the heart want to flea.

    © Alex Hart.

  • alexhart 14w

    Poem 58.
    Colors you can feel.


    Blue.
    is the feeling of peace you see, without it there can only be misery.

    Red.
    is the feeling of anger,
    It pours out the hate then we put it back in.

    Green.
    is the feeling of calm.
    It envelopes your soul in a prism
    of peace.

    Purple.
    Is the feeling of wonder let it
    feel you with delight.

    Pink.
    Is the feeling of wind when it's blowing leaves across the land.

    Brown.
    Is the feeling of danger I know you can't see it but I hope you can feel it.

    Yellow.
    Is the feeling of accomplishment.
    May all the effort you do be felt in yellow.

    Black.
    Is the feeling of hate.
    You never known the color but you feel hate.


    I hope you feel the colors. Especially Green. And Blue. 🙂

    ©Alex Hart.

  • alexhart 16w

    Introduction to my 1st. poetry book.
    (And so I write.)


    I write what I feel in this book,
    Each thought a web of sentences.

    Through this book of poetry my life is swept in word, contemplating sorrow, remembering the verb.

    And so I write away the feelings of sheets that let go, like doves in the wind gliding on my whim.

    I hope they find their way to you, and you open these words that enlighten you.

    To which the pages speak true for you that only the brightest will see.

    ©alexhart.

  • alexhart 17w

    poem # 57.
    Memory.


    It may be a memory or it may be a wish, something greater, or something amiss.

    It is not that time has been locked in your head, it is the love or the sadness that makes a memory so memorable.
    ©AlexHart.

  • alexhart 18w

    Poem 56.
    The death toll.


    When the sun forgets the ground and the cold covers the sky, we think to ourselves what a time to be alive.

    When the body grows old and light began to dim, and our perspective of reality slowly starts fade we say what a youthful life we lived.

    When the bodies are being lowered in the graves, their souls laid to rest in the never-ending sound we say It is the stillness that we grieve.

    As we cry for the longing of the youthful life they had we must remember it is a time of remembrance and happiness. It is a time with well-lived respect, so do not pity the dead because their life has passed pitty the living for in life there is more dead than alive.
    © Alex Hart.

  • alexhart 18w

    Poem 55.
    When the orb suddenly shook.


    “The orb is heavy with great depression and self-destructive thoughts of dilution”.

    “I sit here watching the creaturs of this orb I hold up in my hands but I begin to grow weary”

    “Not of the matter of which is at hand but the matter with what the human race can not see”

    “I grow weary for love and humbleness, kindness and beauty. I grow tired of holding this orb of life just so it can fall to destruction”

    “I grow weary, so very weary and I fear this orb I will drop”.

    ©Alexhart.

  • alexhart 19w

    Poem 54.
    The will to be free.


    Kindness and beauty are gone in the world.
    Meanness and cruelty are beginning to be the norm,
    But we long for freedom the way we see it.
    Be it in the form of war or peace or anarchy,
    we want to see our vision of the world flourish.
    But to be free what we long to see,
    a perfect world without need or greed.
    But that can only be anarchy
    because to make a people free,
    there has to be war.
    ©Alexhart.