Like a baby bird in a nest, you're covered in twigs, vulnerable and pure but you're ready for what the world has to offer, just getting your wings. Learning to fly towards me rather than to fall downwards. Won't you swoop me up in your feathers, just hold me for a while. I'll pluck the bad parts of you and you can carry me forward.

Zenith 6d

Sweet, somber melodies
calm my love; they call to the trees.
And with each rising note they sing,
my love grows; my love is in everything.
It is in the way the birds tweet all day;
it is in the sway of the lilac flowers in May.
There is not such a more harmonious song
than the one that my lover will never get wrong.

written while thinking of him on july 17th

comme un oiseau,
Elle vole de ses propres ailes.

her silhouette is black against the evening blue of the sky,
the breeze as gentle as her whispered words.

Le vent souffle doucement
Aussi lente que les saisons passent.

and just like a bird,
she flits above the treetops, her chicks left at home in the nest.

Mais comme un oiseau vole,
elle ne peut pas voler longtemps

but every little bird, no matter how brave
must return home.

I wrote this poem so that I tells the reader three poems;
the first: in English, tells the story of a mother-figure, having dream-like experiences.
the second: in French, tells us of how she struggles to keep going
the third: the whole poem is about her needing space from her family, her life, because she's struggling, but that she just can't stay away for ever.
this poem is entirely about the readers interpretation.
sage 6d

she stared of into the morning sky,
watching the delicate birds fly.

they were so peaceful in the atmosphere,
left her wishing that she wasn't here.

blood stained her scarred wrists,
her hands forming clenched fists.

her knuckles were bruised and harshly beaten,
and all day, she'd hardly eaten.

there were tears in her eyes,
those as blue as the skies.

her hollow chest held a heart that hurt,
a heart that had been thoroughly stomped in the dirt.

there were anchors in her lungs,
that she'd had since she was young.

as she stared into the midnight skies,
there were tears in her light blue eyes.

the birds flew past the window sills,
and that's when she took one too many pills.

just making my point

The sun sets not far from midnight in Oslo
Enough to leave a little space to bedtime thoughts
In Vlorë the light fades just when the sea needs to rest
Birds fly to new places even though they know they will leave

"Better to have one bird in hand than ten on the roof"- Norwegian proverb
Derek Tatum Jul 14

A ramble in the woods to clear the clutter from my mind
The mountains sing, the creeks & rivers sing louder
The birds can be heard, adding to the song
If you watch & listen an amazing show to be part of
A ramble in the woods, a great way to rapidly bond
Suffer together, type two fun
See what youre made of under clouds & sun
When the aches subside, a ramble again

Shane Willey Jul 11

I wasn't ready
For you to see
How free
I can be.

I stepped outside
For a moment of pride
At the accomplishment
Moments later, I went.

You wondered, Jack
I brought a spare pack.
I never told you why
You would plead and cry.

I took you to the edge
Toes to the ledge.
I kissed you goodnight,
And finally took flight.

It's currently 3:47am and my window is open.

Which means the birds are now becoming nature's alarm clock. And that is just a wake up call that I did not ask for.

The birds just keep singing and here I am typing this on an iPod that doesn't even belong to me.

Hating the constant chirping of winged animals while I've been here watching Grey's Anatomy for hours on end. So I guess I am just a huge moron for staying up late watching doctor shows.

I'm not even sure if this is a poem.

I'm just sick of the birds and feeling terrible for things I did late at night.

If this was any other day..

I would have already shut off my alarm clock.

Or just shout at the birds I guess.

Makayla Shea Jul 1

I look out the window
I see the sky
I watch these birds fly by
They glide with the wind
Rise up against the swells
Where they go no one tells
It is all a mystery
The way the birds fly
The reasons people always die
The reason I'm always alone
Remains completely unknown
Atleast to me
It may be easy for others to see
But I know not
This is my plot
And im alright with it
So long as I get to watch
For watching brings no pain
It is only in the actual act of soaring
That one can ever fall
So whats the point of trying at all?

Just a random poem I thought up.
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