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Tell those who come across my land
You will never own it
The fertility of the land   will never be touched by your ***** hand
Free and wild, a ****** girl
All the full want to own it
Yet, it only belongs to one
If you tried to **** it
Your hands will be cut
You should know
I am mad of her love
She is Mine. Mine. Mine.
What is inside?
Something I do not know
Building in my veins
Will it help me grow?

I come across a wall
And moving to the side
I see another obstacle
That I can’t reveal or hide

I turn to my left,
Then right and around
I see my mirrored self
She doesn’t make a sound

Too long she’s been standing
Waiting to take control
And find that ***** girl
That some ******* stole

She is fierce and fantastic
Wanting to explore
Taking any sensation
To become a slutty *****

That ******* didn’t ****** you
I heard myself say
You’re a **** hungry woman
But are you ready to play?

I thought I was prepared
For ******* and the feast
Though I’m scared to show the world
The carefully hidden beast

Pressured stirring mounts
Like an ******* ***** fever
It is time for slutabration
And unhinge to receive her
I find these days my head bows down,
Lost in trees which bear no roots around.
We all continue to strive for their peaks,
That we might find the validation we believe speaks.
Because in a forest of hard line and concrete,
We think all there is, is a standard to meet.

Our bodies are young, but our souls are so old,
And craving some place wild and bold;
Where the forest which hems is ancient with moss,
And the rivers carve streets no foot can cross.
Tall mountains send out the wake up call,
That every man and woman will fall.

At the end of the day, the wild remains,
And strives to survive through mans foolish claims.
Yet I am lost to the toil and to the strife,
Of simply trying to make it with my life.
But make it where? As what? And why?
Because I try to escape the fact that all will die?

No solace can be found in the wealth of a king,
But give me a glimpse of an eagle on wing,
Amongst valleys and coasts where few eyes see,
Where the snow melts and brings new life to be.
A morning crisp with dew, and a chorus of song,
Some place wild where our old souls belong.

So short-sighted, so corrupt and insincere,
We try and conquer all that we claim to hold dear.
Even though we are but fleeting on a beautiful plain,
We are determined to burn, to clear and contain.
What if we were to become who we could be,
Honouring and reverent of all that is unbound and free?

To feel insignificantly small again,
That is the amazing gift of summit and glen.
A simple reminder that we are all but participants,
Not gods, completely unaware of our littleness.
Sitting in awe of the symphony of life abounding,
Lost in our utterly magnificent surrounding.

So I choose to take to the trails, the ridges and paths,
Which lead to the furthest and cosiest hearths;
To meet other wandering souls who have left behind,
The confusion and delusion of a self-obsessed mind.
And be prepared to lose and find myself again,
Away, into a wild embrace, her rugged domain.

My soul cries for freedom, some vision to see,
New life bursting as a bud on every tree.
Swept up in the miracle of a tale much bigger,
Than the measurable wealth of my yearly figure.
For in the wild, can be found the perspective I need,
For my searching soul to truly be freed.
Khoi 4d
Real freedom
are intrinsically linked
to the freedom
of a bird of prey.
I dreamed of justice
The promised land
I dreamed of freedom
The phantom lived
I dreamed of peace
My heart becomes a piece  

I dreamed Of justice
It will come back once a day
Free Pelastine✌
Robert Rittel Apr 30
Just another word for nothing more to lose,
when expectation went for another cruise.
Problems mingle with the small routine,
chained to circumstances all foreseen.
The dream of other shores so indulgent,
seeming liberation when ifs are urgent.
Choice of independence treasure,
hidden potential and its measure.
To serve or to be served in question,
characters and some act of digestion.
The free will and action unimpeded,
or moral responsibilities just proceeded.
Blasphemy and rejection of grace,
conscious control emerge to face.
Determination in advance,
destiny and her eternal dance.
Ego’s possibilities worth creating,
free impressions that keep waiting.
Quantum randomness to the point,
or fate versus free will God anoint.
Freedom from fear and only prison,
whispers for the right decision.
Merna Ketana Apr 29
I'll speak freely to your liveliness

Till all threads of life are torn

Cause we're dying, we've been dying

Since the day that we were born
My Dear Poet Apr 28
A poets dream
is made up
of a million things
from fairies,
and angels
almost everything
with wings
as the poet sleeps
thoughts take flight
words like birds
are born
and caged
at night
to be set free
by morning
for the poems sake
that will awaken
the world
when the poet
Sa Weol May Apr 28
Head up high,
at the cold cerulean,
constellating my fervent prayers,
with no stars included,
sweetly encountered a canorous disenthrall
sang by the only dove
I saw at the sky.

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