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The evening breeze,
the rhythm of the trees,
the song of love
the honey bees,
the traveling horses,
the starry skies'
valleys and plains from which the mountains rise.

I keep my feet upon the road and I set my spirit free!

I keep my feet upon the road and I set my spirit free!
Gypsy, travelers,  Romanys,  New age travellers,  troubadours as
Who said
sound is a vibration
that travels at a bizarre speed?

I saw it softly floating
ensconced in bubbles
to a celestial gravity
that pulls them up
to the realm of idyllic bliss.

Bubbles exude the
brilliant hues of my yearnings;
wrap me inside
their merino fleece warmth;
hold me to their bosom
with the tenderness
I ever cherish in my soul.

Sound nestles in its heart
a mesmeric glow of music
ordained to play
the salute note
to augur the birth of a
new hankering.

The woeful flute
of the gypsy maiden
soulfully sings
a melancholy melody
for her lost love
to get a phoenix’s wings
under the silver mist of the
new moon’s splendour.
L 7d
You think youve won
Youve got it all
Finally;
It all makes sense.
All of the pain,
The struggle,
The hopelessness--
It all led up to what you thought
Was your reward
For staying strong
For keeping on
Keeping on.

And now,
Things are in pieces again.
Nothing makes sense
Again.
Just like that
Gone.
Poof.
Goodbye
Bliss.

Im sorry
That i didnt cherish you when i had you.
Im sorry
That your wife is gay
And that your girlfriend is a free bird.
Lol this ones for you.

You know who you are.
Eric Pon Jul 27
sad boy;
what a pathetic
ploy
this is for my attention.
all you contrive
tastelessly
always lacks concession.

every word,
and image you fake
I reject, from my
possession,
for all you are
's worth less than this
effortless expression.

you see, my natural
creativity
surmounts your shit
impression
of the beauty of my work
and my powerful
transgression.
leave me alone
Sad Boy Jul 22
It wasn’t fair
Here take it all
Fix it
I never should’ve
Let me fix you
I shouldn’t have
I wanna fix you
So you fix me
But what’s here to fix ?
I can’t fix you
You can’t fix me
I wasn’t ready for you
You’re a challenge
You challenge me
I can’t have you
I don’t want you
Yes I do
Maybe I’ll always want you
But who cares
You don’t
Do I care ?
I never came
I didn’t wanna cause you pain
But I did
And you cause me pain
We abused each other
I’m gonna let you go
It hurt so much
But I have to
Because if you love someone
You have to
I’m sorry
I’m sorry for being so obsessive
For being so possessive
But what you did wasn’t right
You didn’t really help the fight
I don’t know what else to say
Ok bye I hope you have a nice day
Nonetheless
I refer to you and frankly I cannot stop.
I once heard a gypsy sing not anything of this world.
I doubt her song was for me.
Nonetheless
I referred to her almost immediately.
Unapologetically removing myself from conclusion.
Frankly I just love hearing her talk.
Going from place to place.
Retrospection
It's very likely I never once moved.
Referring to her for immediate assistance.
Establishing chair in wait.
Youthful eyes wild & free.
Unable to tame the sunset.
Her sense of freedom.
Not anything of this world
I'll stoke the fires
with my wicked ways
I'll bewitch your nights
and I'll waste your days

I will whisper words
that'll make you swoon
and shake my hips
to a gypsy tune

I will dance for you
til my brow is wet
a girl like me
you have never met

My arrow is sharp
and I never miss
I'll make you mine
with a simple kiss
Johnny Noiπ Apr 16
Outside, night grew darker; stars retracing their paths and the hooded Klan riding through the countryside in search of the diabolical olive-skinned female. They circled their horses around a burning campfire with two covered wagons. These weren’t niggers but a clan of Romany pioneering west. Dismounting the robed and hooded Klansmen came out of the darkness and surrounded the lone man sitting at the small fire.
Whoreson’s voice muffled by the thick cotton fabric, said, “We’re hunting a witch, boy. You see any strange women?”
Getting to his feet the man picked up the simmering pewter coffee pot and pouring the contents onto the fire black night was immediate. Men at the rear of the pack were carrying torches that no longer cast any light; the Klansmen blind and unmoving. There was no sound; the explosion silent if that’s what it was. Robes aflame the Klansmen ran berserk and screaming into the woods. The fires wouldn’t go out as some managed to drop and roll; the forest catching ablaze the flames growing precipitously hotter; trapped by walls of white flame the men no longer seeing night were engulfed by the swelling light and heat.
from The Green Belle
Isla Apr 15
stay in one place too long
and the air becomes dust
choking me
drowning me
an urge to escape
like a gypsy
in the blanket of the night
but when i see those eyes
sparkling at me
shining for me
i know i am home
ahh yes, we need some more love poetry because why not. Might edit this later to make it not so lovey-dovey.
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