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White Wolf Dec 2020
There's a green twig in my soup!

With six crimson leaves to boot.

So I stirred and I stirred, to no avail,
whilst poets would send me mail.

I swear that I have no recipe,

For the oddest reason gets the best of me.

So I blew and I blew until it was cool,
For folly is the way to make happy this fool.

As history is no friend of mine,

All my soup needed was a touch of lime.
White Wolf Jul 2020
As the eagle replenished his soul in the lake of love,
observing his own image he also saw the image of a salmon
which began to dive deeper, so the eagle took chase.

As the salmon was too quick and agile for him,
he still persisted pursuing the salmon.

Until finally the eagle had swum far too deep to make it back
to the surface for air.

Having realised this, the salmon then faced the eagle and gave him the kiss of life.

The eagle returned safely to the surface exhausted and had to float for quite some time to regain his breath.

Just then the salmon approached the eagle and flopped on his back.
So he flew low to the water until the salmon returned to its homeland, the lake.

To this day the eagle often returns to this lake in hope of seeing his special friend.

After years of doing so, the eagle realised that it's not the salmon that saved him, but the renewal of the lake of love itself.
Metaphor, analogy
White Wolf Mar 2020
I hear

The footprints near

And feel their beating heart

Not knowing their distant remarks

Now past
White Wolf Dec 2019
As the trees' shiver with delight
at the fresh autumn breeze,
The cycle of life has met his match with her.

Her cloak now adorned with all
the fallen acorns,
while gently the sun abates
for less to see.

Its sensual warmth no longer felt
by lovers in fields.
Unaware of the web of love,
I allowed my heart to falter.

Now struggling in a world so cold,
I fall.
I fall grasping for breath that
perhaps may fill me with
the joy I once knew.
Recently having my heart broken, I write this for all those.
White Wolf Nov 2019
It was the way we were back in the day;
Uncertain times unknown how things would go.
Like a flash, so quickly our youth would pay,
One would lead and the others would follow.

Oh, sweet youth, how I miss thee and thy sprite,
Always you showed me the path was my own.
Never in fear of landing whilst in flight,
Continued soaring where no one had flown.

In these days now I look back with contempt,
I've not aged with grace but instead, I've faced,
The facts of life which I will now attempt
To make more sense in my age than to waste.

'Tis not the path we're on or how it's known,
It's making it yours whilst it's overgrown.
Attempted sonnet
White Wolf Nov 2019
As I watched her dance in the firelight,
hypnotised by her every move that night.

The intensity of the flames seemed to
illuminate her expressions from her lips
to her hips.

Filled with consternation as she approached
and acknowledged my gaze,
but fixed was my eyes on her beauty.

Something about the night's background
infused with flames in my peripheral vision
that she seemed to float on air.

Either way, I was no longer in the
physical realm.

Now, my anxiety had turned to utter calmness,
it was as though our spirits had met before!

Frozen in the moment, I watched,
I saw before me a kindred soul.

All that existed was this new-founded
White Wolf Sep 2019
If only for a moment our love bloomed,
If only for a spell we would consume.
My heart torn open I bear a deep wound,
To be thy Sun and you to be my Moon.

Alas, my dear, we were not meant to be,
For there is no future for us at all.
But, don't read into my words completely,
Because I still answer to nature's call.

Does a flower turn its petals away
In the day when the Sun is out to shine?
For what is the reason that children play?
The reason that the poet writes his line?

We know deep inside, we all must take part,
And whatever that may be, do with heart!
10 syllables per line, sonnet.
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