Expressive Motives And Thoughts

The sources of poetry are in the spirit seeking completeness.

- Muriel Rukeyser

Imperfection Never Felt so Destined.

I could be imperfectly yours.

I could love you, beyond the test of times.

You can have it all, if I have possess it. 

To you my heart shall thrive, to you I give my breathes life. 

To us we shall be more than your imagination. 

and you shall be my rock and rejuvenation. 

-BDS

When used correctly, the past can at times revitalize the present and brighten the future

BDS

It was written in the stars before time and distance had it’s existence. You and me or eternity..

BDS

funkkkdafied:

ONE TIME!

funkkkdafied:

ONE TIME!

(Source: dothefreakything, via paradises-life)

Daydreams

clandestinepoeticmentality:

I was told “Daydreams weren’t realities,”
That dreams are meant to be hung among possibilities,
and possibilities are never guaranteed.
Yet still I closed my eyes and believed.
Gripping tightly onto all my day-dreams of you and me.

Like the sun rising over the horizon of the east.
Hope roses to blind my sight of your deceit.

Yet still I believed.
And daydreamed.

Of lost evenings,
And all the distant possibilities.

💭

(via luvyourmane)

WOW!!!

WOW!!!

(Source: INFAMOUSGOD, via blvkctruth)

joelmontes:

Recently broke 1k views on my Flickr stream. I released this image under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike and since then it has been used in many online articles and blogs.

_________________________________________________________<3
The lines of my page reminds me of my fingerprints.
The ink in my pen reminds me of my blood. 
The words written reminds me of my heart. 
The poem given reminds me of my soul. 
 Poetry reminds me of the essence of who I am. 
-B.D.S.

joelmontes:

Recently broke 1k views on my Flickr stream. I released this image under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike and since then it has been used in many online articles and blogs.

_________________________________________________________<3

The lines of my page reminds me of my fingerprints.

The ink in my pen reminds me of my blood. 

The words written reminds me of my heart. 

The poem given reminds me of my soul. 

 Poetry reminds me of the essence of who I am. 

-B.D.S.