Welcome to Poetry.com
Poetry.com is a huge collection of poems from famous and amateur poets from around the world — collaboratively published by a community of authors and contributing editors.
(5.00 / 2 votes) “
I’m writing to you this now because it has come to my attention that this is a serious issue.
You are so very beautiful,
so intelligent, caring and kind. And you have so much to offer.
Offering your talents is a scary thing. It means opening yourself up to a world that appears to want nothing to do with you.
But the truth is, that that is a big whopping steaming pile of baloney.
We all want the real, just like you do.
That girl you talked to on the street. The guy you shared a drink with at the party, the long-haired one with bare feet. They are tired of it too.
They just want the realness, like you do.
So give it to them, and trust yourself.
You know you deserve the best right?
You deserve a group of friends and a family that loves and cares for you.
They are off and are not of your choosing,
not always, and always, share DNA with you,
and positively are yours to attract.
It is a simple game of metal and magnets.
Trust the game. It is fun once you learn to play, but it does take practice.
We’ve been playing it for millennia, and the rules and clues are all around you.
Patience and Faith are two of their names.
So offer your talents up to them, share that part of you that allows you to sing shamelessly in the shower, go dancing in the rain, and lay naked on empty beaches.
Every moment we find ourselves amidst the showers of life and with sand between our toes.
Why worry about those stuck in the parking lot?
They will always be there. But that doesn’t mean you need to.
So why not, extend a hand, say the thing they wish they could say
when it is from here, from this place,
There is so little needed to give from a limitless love, and so much of limitless love to gain.
More at : http://brendenpettingill.com/index.php/2017/10/12/limitless-love/
Discuss this Brenden Pettingill poem with the community:
Find a translation for this poem in other languages:
Select another language:
- - Select -
- 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
- 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
- Español (Spanish)
- Esperanto (Esperanto)
- 日本語 (Japanese)
- Português (Portuguese)
- Deutsch (German)
- العربية (Arabic)
- Français (French)
- Русский (Russian)
- ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
- 한국어 (Korean)
- עברית (Hebrew)
- Gaeilge (Irish)
- Українська (Ukrainian)
- اردو (Urdu)
- Magyar (Hungarian)
- मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
- Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Italiano (Italian)
- தமிழ் (Tamil)
- Türkçe (Turkish)
- తెలుగు (Telugu)
- ภาษาไทย (Thai)
- Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
- Čeština (Czech)
- Polski (Polish)
- Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Românește (Romanian)
- Nederlands (Dutch)
- Ελληνικά (Greek)
- Latinum (Latin)
- Svenska (Swedish)
- Dansk (Danish)
- Suomi (Finnish)
- فارسی (Persian)
- ייִדיש (Yiddish)
- հայերեն (Armenian)
- Norsk (Norwegian)
- English (English)