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The geese
Form a procession
in their northern formal dress.
Single file they march down
The hill
Coming from deep out of
the tree line and through
A courtyard of grass and sedge,
Their solemn walk
An act of unison metered by
webbed feet.
And an overdone elegance.

At shore of the pond
They prostrate themselves,
Head bowed to the water.
As if encountering an old
priestess among the
church pews.
Solemnly they shake their
Necks like human hands-
A time honored ritual.
Then, an unknown cue,
Their heads
turn up to the blue sky
launching themselves Into
the water
splash-less, like
Floating clouds blown on
The breeze.
Now moving independently,
leaving ripple paths
across the pond.
The ritual has ended.
A vision of fairy life along a rural woods with a pond.
Kristina Sep 28
Before giving in
to a world that is corrupt,
betraying my ideals
and selling my morality

I'd rather fight
to keep them protected
while I take one step closer to the end
every day.

I'm not gonna survive
by selling myself out.
Poetic T Jul 3
For some may think it of ******
                    but to protect the innocence
some blood may fall.

But when one is only bending
                            a knee to show,
that they may partly descend,
           but will always stand up taller.

We must see that some times the glasses,
               are tinted and we are in fact the extension
                                             of not our ideals
but ones who only see no further than there power.
Jade Jun 15
How I'd love
to spray paint the words
"*******!"
upon your white picket fence.

I will destroy
your every
perception
of
p̶e̶r̶f̶e̶c̶t̶i̶o̶n̶.

Oh,
pardon me.

I retract my statement--

we don't rhyme
where I'm from.
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

Desktop Site: https://notapreciousgem.wixsite.com/tickledpurple/blog

Mobile Site: notapreciousgem.wixsite.com/purplemobile
James Rives Oct 2019
vie
it was plucked from his eyes, his heart,
and the sheer wonder that left them,
stunned.

some cacophonous reverie,
a discordant daydream, pure wants and hopes,
and loves and laughs-- all faded.

what eclectic energy there was in them,
some flicker of familiarity and warmth--
led to a slow, burning descent into some place
he might call home soon.
finally wrote another one, not sure how I feel about it.
Carl D'Souza Jul 2019
Is living
striving to achieve
our ideals
of a joyful and happy life?
Kayla Gallant Jun 2019
I scream over the banging and pounding
I doubt you can hear me
Throat raw and red with anger
I throw my words at you like knives
But they never reach you
For my tongue is foreign
Like a wild animal confined to a cage
I wish I could break free
To snap your neck
And make you see
This world is not as it seems
These people are not real
Society is too far gone ❤️
Ira Sep 2018
Writing a story on a topic,
Hazing away at the microsoapics,
I write stories that aren’t meant to be fun,
Just the basic humdrum.

Reality is my Inspiration,
No matter the mood I’m in.

Dragons and Wizards are to be left on the bookshelves,
As I run to work,
And meet my colleagues for a day of writing reality.

We walk the world in actuality,
And see people with all different vitality.
People of all different ideas of reality.

They speak,
I listen,
I ask,
And they answer,
And we both learn about reality together.

I then write what I heard,
Tell what I saw,
And let the ideas fly like birds.

I've seen all people of life,
I've heard many of there trifes.

I laughed at their victories,
I cry at their lost,
And I hear all their vivid histories.

I write all types of reality,
From the memories of all different types of vitalities.

And as I write about how reality unfurls,
I write about the greatest dreams of this world
I'm in Journalism so I wrote a poem, about it.
Kayla Gallant Jun 2019
Cast me away
Into the fading light
Just a lost soul
In a vibrant lie
Take me down
To my resting place
Away from reality
Wearing a mask everyday can be exhausting.
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