A golden wreath of falling leaves
is curling from the fozen trees.
The season blows and chills
the forest, in winter deep
all go to sleep.

Through banks and frozen walls
the trees bow, with a choir of sound;
deep the forest resonates
with ghostly mist’s,
and forgotten roots.

Winter swallowed the forest whole
with its gaping white mouth.

**© 2017 By Amanda Shelton

Auburn hills grow chill,
as the cold breath of winter
slowly rolls over kissing the tree tops.

A blanket of white
slowly covers the night.
The stars seem warmer
on a winters night.

Snow falls silent
and calm while the
winds blow their song.
Whispers travel far
over the hills and rolling fog.

Icy winter kissed the fog,
leaving ghostly perfume
of Autumn's blushing cheeks.

This is
the chilling song of winer.

**© 2017 By Amanda Shelton

Weathered,
long winded and
breath-takingly beautiful.

On this page there is
a transformation taking place,
digital ink slowly soaks
the surface of this place.

Every line takes patience
and time, it comes together
to create a rhyme.

Slowly it grows into a rising sun,
bursting forth from the seems,
like a black hole sun,
popping oodles of blooming
ink smears.

Each word takes a breath,
oozing forth from the pen.
What a formate, waiting to be read.
Slowly take life,
with each fiber it's crossing the line.

A digital document
shared with the world,
each computer casting it's fame.

Hello Poetry
welcome to the game.

**© 2017 By Amanda Shelton

I fell
hard,
piece by
piece I
crumbled.
Life slowly
fell into place.

Life
grew into
me.

Like a flower,
I bloomed.

I became
a ****,
I live off living.

I leave
pieces of me
everywhere
I go.

Life moves
because I move,
it thinks because
I think.
Reality is possible
because I hold it inside
of my experiences.

I live
and life thrives
because I do.

**© 2017 By Amanda Shelton

I am pushing the dirt,
pile after pile,
higher and higher...

Slowly life grows heavy,
as I build higher.

I strive for better,
as the weather blows down
each of my piles.

I keep on pushing the dirt,
even though it has turned to mud.

Pile after pile
I strive for higher ground,
pushing hard as life
pushes harder.

I never give up,
I'll never give in,
I will just have to pile in
as the mud gets higher.

Do you think a little mud will stop me?
Not me,
I will just push harder
striving for higher ground.

**© 2017 By Amanda Shelton

I lost it one thought at a time,
blue, brown, and purple
a bruised mind shines.

Our minds are the most valuable
part of our bodies,
yet we shove junk into its chasm,
thinking it's strong enough,
and deep enough to keep throwing
everything into its gray matter.  

Yet we watch as time slowly steals
our previous donations to living.

Slowly it degrades,
it starts to decay,
lossing ourselves to the fales
beliefs that society proclaims
to be true.

It eats you, breaks you
like a piece of moldy bread.

You fall to pieces,
laying ground for your
future endeavors,
only to loss track of your
destination.

A broken mind,
a deep well of madness,
slowly fells to the brim
of broken memories
and forgotten treditions.

**© 2017 By Amanda Shelton

O Spring, with your dew drop lips,
lookest down through
the clear windows of the morning,
turn your angel eyes upon
our western skies,
which in full spectrum
the round body of the sun
approaches with her burning *****.

O Spring, the Earth show’s
her blushing cheeks,
and the night listens to our prayers.

Valleys below; with green
meadows the sun is peeking through
as the trees are longing
for the light,
are turning up their
newly grown leafs.
Up to your bright pavilions
I can imagine the Angles singing
for your coming.
They rise to the occasion,
like roses in bloom.

Let your beautiful sun soaked
rays visit Earths clime!
Come over the eastern hills,
until morning turns to nigh.

Let her winds kiss your
perfumed garments;
allow Earth to taste
the morning dew and evening breath; scatter your richness upon
our lovers land
that mourns for greener pastures.

O Spring, the forthcoming
of your fairness and soft touch’s;
pour your soft kisses
on the Earth’s surface;
and put your golden crown
upon her languish’d head,
Whose modest tresses are bound
up for those who fell in love
with her blushing gown.

O Spring, how I waited patiently
for your coming,
you have never forsaken me.


**© 2017 By Amanda Shelton