writing Major blast from the past.

[WhiteGuardian 168]

Hey, I found my old poetry I wrote back in high school. Haha, this brings back memories.

oh, there it goes, now its working.

Backpack

A Poem by J. Allen Smith

 

I stay quiet and listen,

As I walk through these halls,

To the colorful history,

That rings out from these walls.

 

I gather the secrets,

That these dead stones tell.

They go in my backpack,

Like a secret half-filled well.

 

From these fading echoes,

These broken memories,

I see shades and shadows,

That only I can see.

 

I’m an observer, a watcher,

I see the past and the present.

I can predict the future,

Though not all of it is pleasant.

 

They’re soft like whispers,

But they’re loud as can be,

All these signs and stories,

That keep calling to me.

They sit in my backpack,

Always swirling around.

For only by me,

Can these secrets be found.

 

There is no end,

To the stories to be told.

I collect and protect,

Until I grow too old.

 

My time here is over,

I have to move on.

But the whispers continue,

Even when I’m gone.

 

 I give up my backpack,

I must pass it along,

To some new soul,

Who will write their own song.

 

I give it away,

My special secret stash.

Take care of my backpack,

It’s worth more than cash.

 

Emotions

A Poem by J. Allen Smith

 

Like waves rocking a ship,

Way out at sea,

Emotions are strange things,

Battling with me.

 

Sometimes I feel anger,

To disguise my true feelings.

As I lay in my bed,

Staring up at the ceiling.

 

Sometimes I feel sadness,

Deep in my soul.

I get so depressed,

I lose sight of my goal.

 

But I have people who care,

They help me find my way.

I look to the sky,

And see a brighter day.

 

Anger, sadness;

Whatever I feel,

I must push on,

And get to what’s real.

 

I choose to get happy,

And make a better day.

I now understand,

My emotions are forever this way.

 

Snow

A Poem by J. Allen Smith

 

As snow is falling,

Down from the sky,

I look to the heavens,

And I wonder why.

 

The snow is cold,

But it warms me inside.

It’s white and fluffy,

It’s a beautiful sight.

 

The snow falling,

Does not interest some.

But I am curious.

Where does it come from.

 

Are they frozen tears,

Falling from God?

Or is it fine dust,

From where angels trod?

 

Are they pieces of clouds,

That pass through the sky?

I don’t know the answer,

So I let out a sigh.

 

I keep on walking,

As I go on my way.

But I promise myself,

I will know, one day.

 

The Voice of Music

A Poem by J. Allen Smith

 

The Voice of Music,

I hear it everyday.

It speaks to me,

Oh the things I hear it say.

 

The Voice of Music,

How I love it so.

It tickles my spine,

From my head to my toes.

 

It tells me good things,

Things I want to hear.

But it says other things too,

Things I can only fear.

 

It says things ‘bout the world,

Bad though they are,

It teaches me to be careful,

It never strays too far.

 

Although I regret,

People do bad things.

My wondrous voice leaves,

It no longer sings.

I experience darkness.

There’s no light to be found.

I stumble along,

And fall to the ground.

 

I kneel down and pray,

I want my music back.

I yell with all my might,

Until my voice cracks.

 

I break down and cry,

My melody is gone.

Nothing is right,

Everything is wrong.

 

Then I hear something,

Like an angels voice.

It’s a wonderful sound,

It’s a beautiful noise.

 

It’s the voice of innocence,

It’s the voice of love.

It’s the voice of God,

Raining down from above.

 

 

 

At last it’s back,

My loving melody.

My Voice of Music,

Again speaks to me.

 

The light comes back,

The darkness flees,

Again in my world,

I have beautiful peace.

 

Waiting For Love

A Poem by J. Allen Smith

 

Love is sweet,

Like the nectar of a flower.

It is everlasting,

And it’s with me every hour.

 

It is amazing,

The feeling you receive.

It is so warm,

And I hope it never leaves.

 

It is great yes,

But what is far greater?

Give your love away,

For it comes back again later.

 

I give my love away,

That’s the place to start,

And till the day it’s given to me,

I’ll keep it close in my heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Backpack.docx

Emotions.docx

Snow.docx

The Voice of Music.docx

Waiting For Love.docx

Edited February 15, 2014 by WhiteGuardian

[Zhortac 1,474]

I think I have crap that old I've written...I know I have a CD with digital artwork from way back in highschool....or even better, I found a script my friend and I wrote back when were were 14...

[WhiteGuardian 168]

I think I have crap that old I've written...I know I have a CD with digital artwork from way back in highschool....or even better, I found a script my friend and I wrote back when were were 14...

nice! di you think it was better after all that time of not seeing it? sometimes stuff I think is horrible actually turns out looking good if I don't see it for a long time. and good stuff always looks better too. but occasionally I make something I think is good, and I look at it later and it sucks.

[Zhortac 1,474]

nice! di you think it was better after all that time of not seeing it? sometimes stuff I think is horrible actually turns out looking good if I don't see it for a long time. and good stuff always looks better too. but occasionally I make something I think is good, and I look at it later and it sucks.

 

It's like my old drawings (although, someone stole alot of first ones I had), I'm sure at the time I thought they were good, but now I look at them and go, "I was that bad?"...well, that doesn't apply to some of my 3D art...its been years since I did that lol.

[WhiteGuardian 168]

It's like my old drawings (although, someone stole alot of first ones I had), I'm sure at the time I thought they were good, but now I look at them and go, "I was that bad?"...well, that doesn't apply to some of my 3D art...its been years since I did that lol.

lol. I go through periods where I draw and write and periods where I don't. and my style changes each time as well as my interests.