Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
maxime Mar 2017
Do you like your world of fantasy?
Where you live in twisted lies?
Your words are woven a shield of art,
behind which, you believe you'll never die.

You cry for help behind your brambles,
where thorns ***** and wolves cry.
Do you realize you tended to them yourself, dear?
You sentenced yourself to die.
Pauline Morris May 2016
Out in the woods I took a stroll
But the trial was getting mighty droll
So off into the thicket I dared go

The further I went the thicker it got
But I was determined to find what I sought
I was so tired of these overwhelming thoughts

The trorns stretched out and cut thin lines
My hands got entangled within the vines
This seems to be a constant thyme of mine

But I pushed on, pushed through Even though the pain grew
Had I bitten off more than I could chew

The brambles I was currently entangled in
Went on, and on much to my chagrin
I couldn't even tell where I had been

I sat right down there amongst the thorns
Why did I never listen to that voice that warns
But I never did, I always meet the bull by the horns

About to give up, about to coincide
But what happened next was hard to believe
A crimson red bird flew down and sat by me

He started to sing of better days of better ways
He sang of greener pastures in which to graze
Even if on my hands and knees a trail I must blaze

"So don't give up" he screeched as he flew
"Your trials will be a lot more than a few"
"But pushing on I know you can do"

So that I did, on my hands and my knees
I knew perseverance held the keys
I would be as brave as my ancestors, the Cherokees

When I finally broke through, dog tired and ******
Body covered in the thorny cuts, face muddy
I looked like a severely beaten puppy

But as I looked down on the valley below
I let all of that go
I was now within nature's wonderful flow

The smell of honeysuckle and lilacs did mingle
A scent so delectable it made my senses tingle
The dew on the vibrant green grass, like diamonds did twinkle

I'm so glad even though sorrow overflowed my cup
That I didn't give in to all of this world's snubs
I pushed on and didn't give up

Life is an oxymoron, on that you can depend
For now that I'm at the end
My life can truly begin
Pauline Morris Apr 2016
Out in the woods I took a stroll
But the trial was getting mighty droll
So off into
Charles Smith Apr 2015
Through water and sand, stands you.
Spring breaking at you feet
Your breath flicking the pages of a street paper
A black crown of nightingales at your head
Entwined in leaves and wheat trickling down stones in dew-morning light and thrones in brambles of blackberry pie
Rooted to firewood and sheer bliss of kissed moonlight
Where herons christen Stars before black velvet blanket
Bridled by Rosemary and time, caught with Mary in a dark corner
Slumped behind priest less ivy, we permeate the air and through blue blooded command and gnashing of teeth, slants me
Outside the ramshackle cwtch I the hangmedown barks of woods, kneels you.
And stopped around cockles and foundling sparrows, sings the epitaph of a fallen barbarian.
Still through desert and carcass, lies you.

Liz Apr 2014
The wild blackberry
plume bursts,
effervescent under briar
and brambles,
brilliant indigo and magenta prior.

We picked the posy
and sweet fruits
which scalloped along the ditch
until our baskets were full and rich.

The bronzey leaves quiver gently
but do not fall
however thick thorns plenty
tear our long skirts
and scratch our pasty legs.

Stained with dirt
And blood and mud
We skip home through thyme.
Through our childhood as
The blackbirds caw.

— The End —