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Those very alluring eyes,
that sparkles even in sunlight
Those curly and shiny hair,
that i wish to run my fingers through
You're very handsome face,
that I can take to look at every seconds left in my life
I never believe then in love-at-first-sight,
But at the very moment I laid my eyes on you,
I started imagining my life with you
Seeing you for the first time,
Is the best 5 minutes of my life
I believe that we are destined to see each other again.


.
Heeeeey, happy hearts! The one I'm referring here is someone I saw during our field trip in an amusement park. He has a curly hair which attracted me most. That is why I called him Eros. After that moment, his face never left my mind.
skyblueandblack Jan 2015
A girl once wandered along a field of flowers, feet bare
Carefree and unafraid of what she might encounter there

She knew the thorns she removed from her staunch heart
were the launching point, from the point of depart

With the promises that come with the freedom of wings
that portend magical Hope and other beautiful things.

She stopped in the midst of flowers abounding
held out her arms to soak in the sun’s rays astounding

Her head raised high, her eyes serenely closed
no more tranquil an image could have been posed.



Soon thereafter, a feather from the heavens fell
suddenly appearing, as if cast from a spell

It gently danced and glided, sought out her hand
as if searching for a place to land

A feather of the most vibrant hues
like the flowers; reds, yellows, greens and blues.

No sooner had the feather ended its flight
there followed a most ethereal sight .

It was the most exquisite bird,
and suddenly,
something within the girl’s staunch heart stirred.



On her outstretched hand, the bird gracefully landed,
peered into her soul, her attention it commanded.

Resplendent and fine, its feathers in all those dazzling hues
like the flowers; reds, yellows, greens and blues.

She could not help but caress those fine feathers,
as she stood amidst the irises and the heathers.

The bird sang a melody so sanguine and so sweet
only briefly it lingered in sorrow,
a song reminiscent of times long past,
and a subtle promise of tomorrow.



As the bird then moved to the palm of her hand
its beauty, a stunning mesmerization;
the awareness that it may soon fly away
was a sudden and terrifying realization.

She held it with care, grateful for each moment
treasuring each offering like a gift from a lover
Is your heart here to stay, she wanted to ask,
or does it belong to another?

You are not from this place, she thought to herself
You belong in paradise, your heavenly abode
Are you visiting, dear wanderer? Or lost, searching for home?
Still pursuing a path along your designated road?

How easy it would be to close that hand
hold the exquisite bird there forever..
It would sing to her every day,
A bond that would not sever.

But love is not of a forced possession
In her being, this she knew.
That vibrant light would surely dim
There would be no more vibrant hue



And so she wandered on in the field of flowers,
towards the blazing horizon of the dusking sky.
The majestic bird perched upon her open hand
as it sang the songs of days gone by.

Fear remains, along with many thoughts awoken
they set behind the fiery orange-crimson sun,
they hide behind fragile promises spoken,
and gold-gilded intentions begun.

Twilight descends, infused with the disquiet dark brings
accentuated by the stillness of night..
‘but the morning brings strength to her restless wings*’
and Hope, emerges with the Light.
“Behind the blood-stained curtains of Love,
there are fields of flowers where lovers wander...
To wander in the fields of flowers, pull the thorns from your heart.”
~ Rumi
http://skyblueandblack.com/2014/04/09/wanderers-in-a-field-of-flowers/
*Jackson Browne
Chase Gagnon Jan 2015
You're my stillborn butterfly
afraid of your new beauty
with limp wings,
pried from the safety of your cocoon
by my old hands
in a forest where everything
is charred.
Only the skeletal trees
once lush with life and birdsong
can admire your strange elegance
as you lay listless on their roots
that thirst for a storm of passing love
and thunder.

I want to carry you away
to my field of wildflowers
and resurrect you with the unmasked glow
of the shy moon, who only shows its face
in this meadow of lies.
I'll watch the breeze wake you on my fingertips
then let you fly away, carelessly
into a world of color
I'll never compare to.
Lynn Greyling Dec 2014
I  am  a  sight  so  sorrowful
I  cannot  bear  to  think,
what  ­little  children  feel
when  they  stumble  upon  me.

When  I  n­od  to  show  them
what  my  intentions  are,
they  turn  and  ru­n  from  me
and  watch  me  from  afar.

When  I  smile  and  bec­kon
them,  to  come  to  me,
I  sadly  have  to  see
them  cringe  a­nd  cry out loud.

When  I  beg  them  to  stop
and  listen  to  my  song,
they  look  at  one  another  
and  stare  at  me  in  awe.

Oh ­ why  can’t  they  come  closer
to  see  my  beady  eyes
a-blinki­ng  with  my  tears
wherein  my  sorrow  lies?

Oh  why  can’t  they  come  close  e­nough
to  see  my  shoulders  frail,
bent  forward  by  the  wind­
and  rain  and  storm  and  hail?

Oh  why  cannot  they  see
my­  body  hanging  limp,
a  lifeless  shapeless  pity
with  only  w­ithered  hope?

A  sad  and  lonely  scarecrow
standing  in  a  lonesome  field,
destined  to  spend  my  days
­in  endless  sorrowful  ways.
Sometimes a role necessary to fulfill is not recognised by anyone as being worthy.
matt Nov 2014
dreams i haven’t had a dream in what feels like years. dreams are a foreign to my head at night there are only nightmares. i guess i could always buy a crappily made dream catcher from the dollar store but what use would it really have. the fact that some people believe that a dollar store dream catch all the nightmares is silly. I’ve had nightmares for years and no sign of any dreams. i guess it was a waste of a dollar. until a life changing event happened. suddenly i was flooded by dreams. dreams of the future of the past of the present and of what could have been. that last one doesn’t mean much to me anymore. its funny now that i think of it I’ve had somewhat of a reoccurring dream the last few nights. there has been a figure off in the distance looking towards me. i can’t tell who or what it is its been to far away to make out the shape i can only tell it is human like from here. but as the dreams continue the figure becomes less blurred and comes out of the shadows. the figure is still unfamiliar to me at this point but last night i had another dream. i was standing in a field alone and out in the distance i could see the figure closer than ever. i could see ****** features almost perfectly. i can’t believe my eyes when i look and see that figure is familiar to me i didn’t believe it. when i looked at the figure well it was you.
Harper H Halite Nov 2014
Wild flowers kiss the ground
The dawning sun warms the sky
Tiny clouds float on by
And fields of shiny golden waves
Whisper hi.
This is my rendition of Selah Washington in the early morning as the sun is rising and the earth is beginning to wake.
William Keckler Nov 2014
The field of red flowers
on white stems.
Hurry home.
mark john junor Oct 2014
grey and worn
the lawn chair has dead leaves stuck to it
its one bent arm an expression of pained indifference
mud clings to its feet
and a single vine like a thin snake
wraps its way across its frame seeking the sun
i pull at it to set the chair right
to seat myself
and **** at the breeze from the open field
marvel that a cow stands not five feet away
silently watching my every move with a wary eye
lunching on the grass and ****
but the chair now uprooted from its long held position
seems more than ever a proclamation
of mans intent to be seated here on heavens lawn
clear illustration of the intent that you are supposed to
take this bent greasy seat
sit at your leasuire
in the bountiful sunshine
it is one of a dozen in the field
in this beautiful slice of heaven

the lawn chairs
litter the field like broken teeth
set in a line that wanders across the wilderness growth
each having suffered from years standing in the open field
two almost completely consumed by bushes
one had been tossed into the tree
where time had swallowed it into the bark
this broken and brutalized fence of chairs
these lawn chairs of heaven's field
sit in this beautiful place some would say eyesore
i say artwork of life's randomness...
what party of fools once sat here
dressed no doubt for the occasion
perhaps celebrating
perhaps mourning
then got up from these plastic seats
and left them behind as testament
to that forgotten day...
so i sit in heavens lawn chair
a mute salutation to my unknown compatriots
who painted this pastoral scene
of plastic in a field
RW Dennen Sep 2014
Shepard in a field,
crucified upon  a wooden fence
Your grieving flock was scattered
worldly

Liberty's book was swiftly plunged into
the blood of bigotry
Fascism laughed in tones of red, white and blue

Land where our fathers died
Land where our bigots hide
I say to you Amen...

I love Jesus;
you must too
resounded these hollow
words

Hate is now the doctrine
intertwined morph-boiled into fear and hate,
being poured over enlightenment
in destruction of green lands
engulfing
youthful sprouts
in destructive steamy waters

The book of Leviticus
is the demise of reason
fractured from critical thinking;
allocated to the current pulped-swine,
swaying in hypnosis listeners of these pulpit-swine-beasts;
they embark with twisted trepidation's disdain

Shepard in other fields of life
into brute submissions
you will succumb being baptised
in your own red pools,
being smitten by the pulpit-swine-listners
of ancient prophets

The dirge, the slow dirge is heard
throughout our delicate land

Ooh sweet brilliant Oscar, we still suffer
as you had
my brilliant Irish lad

I love Jesus
you
must too
My country tis not for me
sweet land of bigotry
to thee I sing, to thee I sing...
In trubute to Matthew Shepherd, who was murdered by
some young sociopaths because of an innocent ******
orientation
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