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Stéphanie Jun 2020
Sometimes I dream to be a bird
Live without limitations
All I have left is mine
And I have an existence full of exploration

Sometimes I dream to be a bird
I feel free without chains
The lively forest is my home
And no one will interfere with me

Sometimes I dream to be a bird
Wings take me to hidden places
I make my own extraordinary chorus
And I can bring myself everywhere

Sometimes I dream to be a bird
In the sapphire blue sky out there
But I know, this dream is complete fiction
For I don't even know how to whistle
Hey i’m new here. I’m 15 years old and live in the Netherlands. This is my  first poem on this great site. Hope you like it (i know it is not a really good poem)
JCabanilla Jun 2020
The day is so sweet.
The birds sings their tweets.
You and God's blessings may meet.
A Haiku for a change! Day 9 🤗
Makayla Jun 2020
I feel like a kept pet
your bird with metal on its wings
Turn off the lights
then maybe
I’ll be able to escape your perverted gaze

Why do you keep me?
my lullaby sings
it’s sad tune
is what brings you glee
for surely you’d die
if it weren’t for my wings

******* and strung
my bird song has been sung
Leave me! I cry,
my wings must fly
I pray you see it in my eyes

But there I lay
forever in my stay
the old structure being my comfort
and with whatever might I muster
I say,
You can hear my song
for forever I will belong.
Amy Perry Jun 2020
Nothing worth reporting besides the usual
Importance of ignoring negligent thoughts
That seek to destroy me,
Harboring inside me,
A caged bird with a broken wing.
Hope calls out in many ways,
Still your surroundings to hear its bays.
Quiet. Listen.
It’s seeking you in earnest,
Its mysterious hands fiddling with
The lock of your entrapment.
Soon, you will have the strength
To pursue all of your dreams.
But right now, you’re too consumed
By the hopelessness of your confinement.
The bars disappear when you look at them
A certain way. Illusory, these posts, these chains.
Break free, some sympathy may come your way,
And unleash you, teach you how to fly with your handicaps.
Don’t look back, once you’re released -
Fly over the valleys and the rivers, wherever you please.
Fly brave, fly free.
Continue to seek
All that seems out of your reach.
Bathe in the waterfalls of your fortune.
It’s yours, after all.
You have this as your guiding motion.
Snap back to your present situation.
You see the cage, you feel your stuntedness,
Your loss from grace,
From freedom, the chase,
You so earnestly thought you’d finally taste.
One day, it’s yours.
Just hold on to hope, on to your scope,
The sights and the breeze under your wings,
It’s all yours, always has been, always will,
And still, I know it stings.
Listen to the way the ocean sings,
Once you make it there, I know you will,
But for now, let the ink spill and spell
Your own misfortune, your own destruction,
Slowly deteriorating any sense of fruition.
I know you want to give up on these ghosts,
But they are yours to catch with a gilded net,
So let them go, if you choose, but remember
You’ll have to live with regret that you never pursued
Beyond the bars that immobilize you, like roots.
You were meant to travel and traverse,
The universe will push you towards your path.
Do not listen to those who jeer and laugh.
You know your purpose. Listen, it’s there.
What your inner voice guides is your truth to bear.
Maria Mitea Jun 2020
I am running at the farm market,
For buying three pounds of organic enlightenment,
Glutes tight, chest stiff, a little bird pooped on my forehead,

Hoaxed by this joke I stepped on some dog ****,
An old lady asked me
                                     to carry her over the pit. I mimic, wait
“I will give you help after,
Now, I am in a hurry,
I want to buy three pounds of organic enlightenment.”
Dante Rocío Jun 2020
Sikorki tchnienie w locie musnęło ziemię,
Kresy, wrzosy, suche liście też na wietrze.
Na sykomorze dalekiej Arabii ustała,
skulonego u jej korzeni tego, co sonety
o Aleppo układał, wysłuchała,
i przeto myślami po raz pierwszy
swe osmolone smogiem skrzydełka przetarła:

"Ku czemu się wykluwałam? Ku czemu latałam?
Swym trelem, uwagi skinieniem, czego mam być wyrażeniem?"
Nagle poczuła w każdej małej kości:
"Odpowiedź jest jedna: Miłości"

Że ma ona twarz wszystkiego, niczego, spojrzenia naszego:
Dwóch samców złączonych łabędzia czarnego,
Smutku dla szczęścia innego znoszonego,
Sekretu czule z łzami deszczowi wyznanego
I drzewa z grzyba korzeniem splątanego.

Że ku temu radość innym daje, że tego jest formą,
Wszystkich uczuć, chwil i wrażeń zmową.

"Dziękuję", na tą myśl światu odpowiedziała,
z wdzięczności dla poety z dołu
korę drzewa pocałowała,
i z nową tęsknotą, ku niebu Syrii,
odleciała.
A poem for the children at heart (and not only) of a little *** that learnt on a faraway sycamore through a refuge’s sonnets that Love is all and nothing, with all facades, as revelations or any physical/****** manifestation.
Will translate into English if requested (haven’t yet due to many rhymes and figures of expression)
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