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Tyler Harper Mar 16
you are not under
my wing;    
    you are the wing.
                The wing in which
I fly!          
                                     you are            
                          ­          sky.
no, my eyes                              
won't lie.                      

                     to see you again,
                                 I'd be happy enough
                                       to die.

luv writing about santa claus
and my mommy *****
Zywa Feb 19
Finally the sun,

in the park a dove flies up --

freed from my pale skin.
After the winter / After the flood (of Noah's ark)

Poem "Een zondag, midden winter" - I ("A Sunday, in the middle of winter" - I, 2008, Lies Van Gasse)

Collection "Mist-I"
I S A A C Dec 2022
wounded by arrows
some missed but some hit
made my heart split
1 half hates, 1 half loves
1 black raven, 1 white dove
balance my mess
balance my loss
painting with the burgundy blood
Teyah Nichole Oct 2022
The handbook of my heart
Is one
For the birds,
As I am
Because I do
When there simply aren’t words.
So Sunday’s swan song
These little loaves
of love—
                    A bread of pray
                    For a safe journey home
                    My sweet turtle dove.
I've developed a habit of baking bread for the birds in my local park. I wrote this poem in honour of the new ritual that's become my raison d'état.
Noah James III Mar 2022
Blind love, gentle dove
I have my heart toward only you.
It beats furiously,
yearning for all of you.
How could I not see
the historical trauma you've had to flee?
You've arrived in front of me to just be,
Wise serpent beautifully.
May the dove have an option to choose.
To gently love or fly free.
A blind love flees; real love sees
your true self is no mystery.
2022 Hello Noah
Lolita Feb 2022
Us together was exemplary devastation and even in pieces, I yearned for more...  
Us together now is pure conservation even perpetual I want more...  
Can I compare you to my lovely day? But you are the art more lovely and more adumbrate...  
Your cherry blossom hue never gonna wash away by heavy showers of rain I'm not even gonna let ragged wind shake my darlings, Dovey...  
You can savour me... But only with your eyes...  And I will vow with mine.. then there will be no surprise...  
May our path be cohered forever and get entwined... We can epoch our kiss in a barrel then we not gonna need chardonnay wine...  
What signifies how intimate we shall be??
Not what you are but what you're to me...  
But you are so far away... And we are planning to make our stay...  we are staying under the blanket of starry nights...  
And it's a sight to behold because we gonna see two moons collide...  
As long as the sun shines we traverse and expands...  
May we reach the end of it all and may this never ends...
Bees may **** us one day...
Thekingspen Jul 2021
Maybe death is a win.
A win from all the pains
A win from this life of many sorrows and troubles.

Death might not be a win but it's the end of pains and troubles and the beginning of an unknown path.

If there's any ease in death, Rest easy Mom🕊️🕊️
Erian Rose May 2021
Autumn mornings filtered
gentle daylight on sunbeams
across cityways
and warm-tinted sidewalks,
upbeat lofi humming
with the dove's sorrowful song,
while weaving past
the struggles days bring.
Hi everyone! I finally got down to creating that lit magazine :) The Instagram is @autumnmorn.mag
It's still a work in progress, with an official website, logo, and application/submission forms in the process, but within a few months it should be up and running!
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