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The heather burns with purple fire,
A land that dreams, a land that’s dire.
Through every glen, a cry is cast;
“We are a nation – free at last!”

No longer ruled by distant hand,
We claim our voice; we stake our stand.
From Bannockburn to present day’
The will for freedom finds its way.

The pound may shake, the oil may dry,
But still our hope will not deny.
For richer far than vaults of gold
Are rights no outsider should hold.

A parliament, yet not the crown,
Still shackled while we lift the town.
Our children ask in modern tongue:
“Why must our fate be England ‘s song”

With Europe’s hand, with island grace,
We take our place, we find our space.
A Scottish dawn, fierce, unafraid,
In truth and trust, our future’s made.
Beneath the skies where mountains rise,
Where lochs lie still with ancient eyes,
Scotland stands with weathered grace,
A land of pride, a restless place.

The thistle grows through stone and strife,
A stubborn bloom, a pulse of life.
The lion roars in whispered song,
Of battles past, of right and wrong.

A voice once bound, now seeks to fly,
To carve its future ‘neath its sky.
No longer just a northern part,
But beating with a sovereign heart.

Holyrood speaks with careful tone,
Yet still beneath a London throne.
Voices call for what was lost,
Yet freedom bears a heavy cost.

They speak of oil, of tax and ties,
Of Europe’s door and broken lies.
Of culture kept and sold away,
Of tartan dreams and Judgment Day.

But more than votes or lines on maps,
It's heart and hope that fill the gaps.
A nation’s soul, too long dismissed,
Now rises, clenched in dewy mist.

So let the world and history see
A land that years not just to be -
But to decide, to stand, to say:
“We shape our own tomorrow’s day”
In the heart of the glen where the bagpipes call,
A legacy echoes, a resounding thrall,
The Saltire waves boldly, a banner of pride,
For freedom we yearn, with our ancestors beside.

From the mountains and lochs, their spirits arise,
With tartan blood coursing, a fire in our eyes,
No longer shall Westminster dictate our way,
For Scotland is rising, we seize the day.

With each note they play, our voices unite,
In the chill of the dawn, hearts wild with delight,
The whispers of warriors from ages before,
Guide us in battle, we’ll fight to restore.

From the whispers of history, our purpose is clear,
To claim back our homeland, resist every fear,
For those who have fallen, we honor their fight,
With the Saltire held high, we’ll strive for the right.

So let the courage be kindled, let hope light the dark,
As we march for our freedom, igniting the spark,
For in every brave heart, the spirit runs free,
A Scotland unchained, forever to be.
In the hills where the thistle’s sway,
The spirit of Scotland forever will play,
With the Saltire flying high and proud,
Beneath its embrace, we gather a crowd.

Tartan patterns weave tales of old,
Of battles fought and warriors bold,
With William Wallace, a name that inspires,
Kindling the heart of freedom’s fires.

The winds whisper stories of blood and pride,
Of those who stood tall and never would hide,
In the shadows of heather, with courage they bled,
For a land of their own, where dreams could be fed.

In valleys and glens, the echoes still call,
To rise up for justice, for one and for all,
With hearts intertwined, let our voice proclaim,
For Scotland, our home, we will honor her name.

So let the Saltire wave in the sky,
And the spirit of freedom forever soar high,
As we tread on this land, with courage anew,
To honor our past and embrace the true blue.
Cadmus Elissa May 11
If one day you break, too tired to cope,
And search the dark for hands of hope
Don’t reach for theirs, they come and go,
With fleeting warmth and faces you don’t know.

Just lift your left and find your right,
The one that’s stayed through every fight.
Your other hand, scarred, quiet, true
Has carried all that life gave you.

It wiped your tears when no one cared,
It held your chest when pain was bared.
No vow, no oath, no distant friend
Can match the grip it dares to lend.

So fold your fingers, let them bind,
And trust the touch you always find.
For storms may rage and trials descend
But none defeat the hand you lend.

The world breaks many, but never the one
Who learns to stand with hands of one.
This poem is a quiet tribute to self-reliance, the strength found not in others, but in one’s own steady presence. The “other hand” is a metaphor for the part of us that endures without applause, comforts without condition, and rises when everything else falls away.
Rubyredheart Mar 26
I do love the feel
Of your big hard strong **** in me.
But I’m telling you
I don’t need you or your hard ****
for ****** satisfaction

Oh baby,
I know you’ve moved on
are gone
Except as …
friend? stalker? past acquaintance?
Anything but lover
Anything but confidante or soulmate…

I am stronger than I look,
Stronger than you know
Able, independent, self-loved

I am my own
“Oh god! oh god! oh my god!”

I worshipped you, loved you eternal…
now
I am my own god
I’ll miss you…but not too much
beloved ****
Nik Feb 28
Lost.
Every child is born lost,
Every child is born alone.

We enter this world crying,
Small hands reaching for warmth,
A warmth we cannot create alone.

Stumbling, falling,
Too weak to stand on our own,
Helpless, dependent.

Molded by voices not our own,
Taught what to say, how to be,
Following paths laid before us,
Doing as we are told.

But as we grow, we begin to change.
We learn to rise without trembling,
To speak with voices that are now our own,

To walk where our hearts desire,
No longer imitating,
No longer afraid.

Courageous, independent,
Becoming our own saviors,
Because we no longer need another to be—
Found.
Maria Jan 29
I’m alive! Listen to my heartbeat!
The door is closed and my heart is behind it.
It’s knocking as if it wants to escape. Silly,
It’s cold and frost outside. You’ll be chilly.

I’m alive! Look, these are tears.
That’s how it can be with poor trees,
When their trunks are cut with a knife.
Their pain will be soothed by the rain for life.

I’m alive! You see, I’m running.
I don’t need no you or your halls. Just nothing!
I’m running at random, no matter where!
My star will guide me now and forever!
This poem is a life slogan for me for some time now. And thank you for reading it! I appreciate your attention.
Sara Barrett Jan 11
The classroom became our living room.
We learned together—alphabet to perseverance.
Public schools taught rules;
I taught love that bends to fit a child.
A tribute to homeschooling as a path of life lessons, where education extends beyond books to teach independence, respect, and freedom. This poem captures a mother’s role in shaping her child’s understanding of the world, empowering him to break boundaries and embrace real-world wisdom.
Sara Barrett Jan 11
I was not made to be quieted,
nor to shrink into the spaces they expect.
I am the storm,
the fire within,
learning to rise with each breath.

In the quiet, I find my power—
it is mine, not given,
crafted through pain, through growth,
and the wisdom that comes from standing tall alone.
I don’t need their validation—
I am whole,
I am enough.
This poem is a deep exploration of a woman's journey toward self-empowerment and resilience. With introspection and unwavering strength, it reflects the quiet power that comes from embracing one's own worth and overcoming societal expectations. It speaks to the process of discovering that true strength lies within, needing no validation or approval from anyone, especially not from men.
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