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Karijinbba Jul 2018
There is a legend
about a bird
which sings just once in its life. more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth,
From the moment it leaves
the nest it searches for
a thorn tree,and it does not rest
until it has found one.
Then singing, among the savage branches, it pales itself upon the sharpest spine. And dying, it rises above its own agony
to outcarol the larkand the nightingale.
One superlative song,existence the price.
But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles.
for the best is only bought at the cost of great pain....Or
so says the legend.This resonates deeply within me
because being an RHO negativeMother every Gyno MD advised
termination of my unborn a malicious prejudice
even called me hybrid race! the medical database is WRONG  
I SAVED three of my children they were born
they live the loves of my life
Its true with me too the best is only acquired at the price of great pain and sacrifice
If lucky and awake our heart and own intuition will know to aim for the best  Thanks for your time dear poets.
The legend piece is anonymous
but it came to me
and I accepted it as my very own.
karen Mar 2018
love flies away from me
like a lark in spring
the further it flies
the louder it sings.

but i am no birdwatcher,
i am a car deep in the mud.
someone else holds the keys
and they drive where they want

i want love but i cannot have it,
for a crow is not a lark but
it doesn’t even matter,
for the forest is now dark
and the birds have all scattered
someone asked me out recently and i feel terrible because i dont like them back. honestly i dont think im capable of love, even though there is nothing else that i want more
Rohan P Dec 2017
and we see it all, as the waves of futures hazily and uncertainty fly over and above me. we look up to the scores of crying stars, lowering...inexorable rotations, over and beyond, permutations through these emotive colours of the dark: of skepticism? of timelessness? winding slowly, downwards, there's no wild here anymore; do you still hear the lark sing?
Rohan P Dec 2017
lark, perched and persistent,
upon that willow,
and billowing, that screeching wind around you;
and willowing, those branches stretched out to guide you;
and singing, that song reaching out to hold you;
and ages dying, fading away beneath those yellowed branches—
now you wait for the advent of spring, an eternal lament
of slowed, persistent flowing, of pointed, ageless growing—
of wallowing in the hollows
and promising in the branches,
and leaving in the sunset,
and learning in the shade:
she flew away, I think, to the edges of the sea.
Stanley Wilkin Jun 2017
Curled up, bright yellow petals glinting like glistering metals
Trees that rise and bow, silent now
Cars rushing into the dark, crushing a slow-moving lark,
Cats curled up before a fire ignoring the nearby church choir
Singing melodious paeans to god before a stature soaked in blood.
A rising bright silver moon floating across the sky too soon
Howling dog and wolf scampering across each shadowed roof
In that, the foulest night of the year pumped-up with fear,
With sepulchral screams hammering the brain, the sane and insane
Shackled to the earth before, not after, death.
lenore Apr 2017
One sleepless night I heard the lark
Chir-chirruping inside my heart;
Got up to find her in the dark
To capture her and set apart
Her stringless resonating harp
On which she played a note so sharp;
My very soul said: "Hark, oh, hark!
What is this iridescent spark

That set my every thought aflame?
For in its sound I heard my name!
That made my ear and eye so changed
That all the world illuminates?
It will not let me sleep again
Until my every breath is spent!"

I looked and looked and looked in vain
But carried with me the refrain
So every time I turned around
The sound was coming from without;
At lenght I closed my tired lids
And heard the lark sing from within;
And this is how I figured out:
I'm not the kindling. I'm the spark!
The Judge May 2016
I can feel myself
slipping away.
I can feel myself fading
without delay.

I hold a lit torch
to save me from the dark.
I hear a nightingale
when I want to hear a lark.

I used to think that light
and dark were the same.
But now I know
that one is more tame.

Save me from the light
because all I know is the dark.
Bring me the nightingale,
and destroy the lark.
Pauline Morris Mar 2016
In this darkness ment to stand
Only seeing brighter lands

The light I did pursue
But the dark it did ensue
Though I ran with all my might
The darkness remained right by my side

It remained like a moonless night
No guiding light
To alumminate my flight
It wasn't right
The darkness I could not fight

In this darkness ment to stand
Only seeing brighter lands

The Sun glistening through the trees
I could almost feel the breeze
It brought me to my knees
To pray to a God that doesn't see

He's left me to all the fears
He's never near
He's made it clear
This God only listens with a deafened ear

In this darkness ment to stand
Only seeing brighter lands

I am the sheep lost in the dark
My soul it has no spark
Only sound, song of the lark
To my voice no one will hark

Please take my eyes I no longer want to see
The nothingness in front of me
I beg of you I  plea
Imprisoned in the dark, left groping for a key

In this darkness left to stand
Forced to see the brighter lands
Crysta Gingras Dec 2015
Caw! Caw! Calls the crow on a crisp fall morning
Nevermore! Nevermore! Yells the ravens forewarning
The mist lifts into the air
As the sun begins to rise
The priests are sending up a prayer
Babies shouting out their cries
The dog down the street going bark! bark! bark!
The canary next door gives a little whistle
Out of the brush in a hurry ***** a swift lark
Away dashes a bunny, straight into the thistle
A squirrel chatters away
At a cat prowling close
Diving in, a daring jay
Caught by the cat, almost
Never was there a morning
So busy as this
To hear the birds all chirp and sing
To describe in a word…bliss
Good Morning to my angel
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