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On this page, I'm in spring
the flowers blooming,
birds chirping,
and nature, flourishing.

On the next page, it's winter
the leaves are withered,
the floor, snow-covered
and nature, from the cold shivers.

On the following page, I'm royalty,
basking in wealth and glory,
overlooking the masses,
whilst enjoying all delicacies.

On the following one, I'm on the streets,
scavenging and pilfering,
experiencing what life is
for the destitute.

Each page takes me
on a different journey.
It wraps me amidst its words
and carries me along in its story.
It's neverending and ever-soothing.

To you, I might appear lost;
as I am drowned in the world of books;
my mind drifting from one universe
to another.
But I can't be anymore aware,
right, found, and alive in this world,
than I am in reality.
Just a tribute to books.
Shane 17h
Perched on top a sandcastle,
A ghost who rules the night.
In armour pale as soft moonshine,
And brandished sword of might.

From his high keep, he clambers down —
The shore his dark domain.
He stalks the tide’s retreating edge,
For spoils soon to be slain.

The scent of brine and drifting ****
Rides on the midnight air;
Now darting forth to strike his prey,
Swift-footed, keen, aware.

With sharpened blade, he rends the flesh —
His kingdom’s tribute claimed.
And casts aside the rest to rot,
Now that his hunger’s tamed.

Then strikes his armour with his sword —
It rings along the shore,
A haunting drum designed to fright
Subjects still seeking war.

Assured now that his realm is safe,
Sword sheathed with grim command,
He scuttles back to his fortress,
Across the warming sand.

The eastern sky grows light with fire;
The moon begins to fade.
The surf now hums a softer hymn,
The stars slip into shade.

He yields his crown to morning’s glow,
And burrows in his keep,
Where muffled tides and cooling walls
Enfold their king in sleep.
Keep On
Cat calling
Me!??!
Man, come on!

I was taught
To always act
A freakin' queen
Never to fall
on shattered pie-ces

Each morning I'm cat called
on the walk to work
By some incels with mommy issues
All they can do is oggle
At the awesome *** God gave you



Ain't got clue what to do with it
In real life
if you survived
past saying hi

Aw it's cute that
you assume
you could handle all
That I
Outside the fantasy
Are you the catalyst?
Are you my muse?
My master?
My Shaman?
My guide?

Or some drifter who sparked something
Dead in me...
Too dormant to pry from
The floorboards by myself

I would've never seen
What I could be if you
Didn't light the match
You were,
Are,
Will be,
my hidden passion
Inspired if you only did
what I was asking

We could somehow,
Still be
Now the tables turned
If only you could deal with me
You were my peer
Yet my professor
Froze any lessons Into lectures
Pressure is setting in

Hope you know I'll always be
Your biggest fan
Flat characters in a bad romance

I coulda wrote
with half my wit tied
behind my back
Doesn't make this any less real
The ritual thins the veil
Please tell me
you can feel ...
This
Whatever IT even is
Are you my mystic ?
Or my mediator ?
My handler ?
Or myself ?
Displayed on a face

I've hallucinated
Just to keep me company
Yet you reply
And react
as if you were made to

Maybe your the simulation
Or were tailor made to
make me whole
I dunno...
Did this in a few minutes.of inspiration
Should I edit this
Trying to decide
Deep in green ocean where wind dances with leaves,
An old druid is sitting, lonely and silent.
Deep in a forest where light barely seeps,
He waits for the one who makes his life vibrant.

Deep in the shadows of ancient oaks,
Carrying sack filled with pine cones and seeds.
Deep in the darkness where mist gently floats,
He waits for the one who has all he needs.

Roots are the veins that carry earth's life,
Green stems grow peacefully, berries are sweet.
This is a place that knows no strife,
He sits and waits for her with pergamen sheet.

Words that feel warm like the home that he left,
Words that feel colder than long winter nights.
Some words monger fear worse than death,
Some words could end the most hateful fights.

He sits there patiently, his eyes still cry,
Writing the ballad for woman he loves.
She is his fae, she taught him to fly,
Fly like a gentle flock of pale doves.

Long ago has he left life of clashes,
Just to see once again eyes of that muse.
Ready to sit there till stars turn to ashes,
Without her by his side, life has no use.

Nights were long, lonely, and cold,
Rays of the sun could not reach his soul.
But even in darkness, alone and old,
He sits there and waits for her, fearing no howl.

Days turn to months and months into years.
He saw her look at him just a few times.
Just glance at her beauty is spilling his tears,
Just smile of her lips makes him forget his crimes.

Deep in the halls of intertwined branches,
A fae was dancing on pillows of moss.
Sweet is her voice, bringing new chances,
Mystical power in her eyes gloss.

Rain itself doesn't dare soaking her hair,
Ground itself doesn't dare staining her dress.
Sun itself enjoys the light of her glare,
Gods themselves wish by her to be blessed.

Under the crown of peaceful beech,
She rests after dancing, hidden from sight.
Not knowing what the druid's heart so beseech,
Not knowing he's slowly losing his light.

Amongst the trunks of whispering trees,
Silently waiting, alive just from hope.
Until dust of his bones is carried by breeze,
He reads words of love he long ago wrote.

Perhaps she notices, perhaps she watches,
Perhaps she's listening, hidden in green.
Perhaps she'll come before his years notches
Run out of space and he dies unseen.

Decades then came and went, time knows no friend.
Old druid still sits there, his voice getting weaker.
Losing all hope, he expects just end,
Giving up on being true love's seeker.

Leaves are now rotting beneath his feet.
His eyes see nothing but darkness and pain.
He spent his life waiting for something sweet,
His smile went dim, washed down by salty rain.

Was he a lunatic or was he just wrong?
Did he just waste his life in expectations?
His love still burns for her, ever so strong,
But his heart's in pain that could destroy nations.

Suddenly, beautiful voice sounds in trees,
Calling his name, beseeching his soul.
Not to give up just yet, to be at ease,
Not to fear sadness and hopelessness foul.

Sunbeam of gold lit up desolace dark,
Pouring his life back into his old veins.
Within his eyes again danced a spark,
Spark of hope coming from eternal plains.

Trees themselves whispered her name to the breeze.
Beasts of the forest quietly admired beauty.
Ground itself softened to give her walk peace.
Time itself refused to do its duty.

She walked slowly towards him, such graceful beauty.
Her warmth healed his wounds, soothed his cuts.
Her presence shields him from this world's cruelty.
Stars in her eyes are to happiness maps.

Only to see her erased all his doubts.
To see her walk closer gave him back his power.
And in his soul, after years of endless droughts,
She summoned rain, a life-giving shower.

Her touch was like spark that reignites flames.
Her breath was calm wind that clears out the sky.
Her voice makes him forget of all other names,
When she is so close, he will never die.

In her arms warm were days, warmer were nights.
In her arms struggles did no longer matter.
In her arms his mind flies up to sky heights.
In her arms stone walls of loneliness shatter.

Yet nature calls her back, to dance with grace,
To dance through forest and give world its meaning.
He knew that coming are much darker days,
She's going to leave his side, all that's left: feeling.

He wants her to stay; she makes him feel seen.
He holds her so tightly, not letting go.
He looks in her eyes deeply, she is his queen.
He wants to tell her the truth, to let her know.

He would stay guard all night so she could slumber.
He would give everything that he can offer.
For her to be warm he'd carry red ember.
He would be protector, friend, and a lover.

Gathering strength for these words to be told,
His mind is overwhelmed by adoration.
He needs her to know this deep truth that's so old,
Yet he is defeated by his emotion.

Deep in the forest where night meets the day,
Old druid is sitting, wishing he dared.
Deep in the forest where he met his fae,
Waiting for one who hugged him and cared.

Deep in the shadows where leaves obstruct rain,
Old druid is sitting, lonely and still,
Waiting for fae who healed his soul's pain.
She might not return, but waiting's his will.

Some say this ballad is purely a dream.
Some say the druid is still waiting for fae,
Writing the words just for her to be seen,
Hoping she returns to him every day.
the things i could tell you—
they’re almost criminal.
but i only find your lips,
soft with ache for me,
in the quiet dark of dreams.
i carry you
like a wound that scabs
but never bleeds.

and if you were here,
really here,
i think i’d take the risk.
let my life fold in half,
see if you’d catch me
as i come apart
under your touch.

but i know you wouldn’t.
so i’ll hold onto
this fantasy for now,
praying that your flickers
eventually burn out.
this one is about being stuck in a fantasy, because courage is a myth.
~ A Nursery Rhyme ~

By night the lamplights bloom in blue,
and Squinty Bat comes lurking through.
A flicker, a whisper,
a crooked spin,
she twirls in the hush where dreams begin.

She nibbles moths that orbit the glow,
grim as the gossip graveyards know.
Around the lamp
she loops and slides,
a velvet ribbon on moonlit tides.

At morning sun - dreadful, bright! -
Miss Clara Parrot claims the light.
She squawks and scolds,
so green, so loud,
a herald of day to the mortal crowd.

She tattles from trees with her feathered choir,
spilling the secrets that night conspired.
Their laughter clatters
like shattered glass,
naming each sin the shadows let pass.

Neighbors groan and pull their sheets
as Clara reigns over waking streets.
While Squinty swings
in her secret nook,
dangling like crime in a dusty book.

By day, it’s Clara, gossip and glare,  
by night, it’s Squinty, a ghost in the air.  
And before you ask:
Which one is blessed?
the sun and the moon will refuse that test.
And a credit to Mr. Edward Gorey, an inspiration.
he touched my arm
as he paid for his latte —
i smiled as he talked.
he’s going to budapest.
same time as me.

he asked if i could
recommend things to see.
easy.
the ruin bars,
the chain bridge.
the gellért baths,
if you like steam.

i could be your guide —
i didn’t say —
i know a great place
i could take you.
it doesn’t need a ticket.
conveniently,
it’s located
in my bedroom.
this one is about the crush who wanted to explore budapest, and made me consider becoming a private tour guide.
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