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Rosie Jan 15
Beneath the canvas of the starlit sky,
A beacon burns, a lullaby.
Through shadows cast, a tale unfolds,
Of a love more precious than gold.

In shadows interlaced, the glow would sing,
A celestial whisper, a familiar wing.
I'd stray at times, chasing the day's fleeting gleam,
Questioning the light, like a forgotten dream.

Resentment clung to the flickering light,
As if returning home was a surrender to night.
In my heart, a whisper of pride,
Home meant I hadn't soared wide.

Through the years, the light reframes,
No longer a symbol of forgotten aims.
Like moth to a flame, I’d circle back,
To a hearth that murmured, a quiet track.

Now, the light's not a sign, not a line in the sand,
But a soft place to land, in an unknown land.
A sanctuary, a heartbeat, a welcoming roam,
In the cadence of shadows, I find my home.

The door swings wide with a creak and a sigh,
A refuge awaits, where tears can dry.
So, as I wander life's unknown,
The light guides me back, a beacon of home.
I may see home different, but the light always stays on.
Duane Kline Jan 1
Trying to learn
Something from the
Is a funny way to spend the

We look back
At the beauty,
Seeking the safety
Of our imaginations,
Knowing memories of
Other Lives
Can shield us
From the pain
Of our own

You long to sit
In classrooms,
Captaining other minds
Through the fogs
And mists
That shroud memory.

The light you bring
Can illuminate
Or blind.
Sometimes, a dimmer light
Is better
To see through
The fog.

Glance backward,
Don't stare.
The future,
Glorious and clear
For Aaron
Chelsea Quigley Dec 2023
We ask ourselves;
That ‘life was made to die’,

But if we continue to ponder,
We turn grim,
And somber.

For this question is up to us.
A creation of an answer,
One can trust.

As one can love,
And finally adjust.
Jamesb Dec 2023
I wrote that my
Eight year old
Is no longer screaming,
That a loving hand
Watered the budded rose
Deep within him
And therefore me,
And thereby changed

Now life is like walking
Across an ancient battlefield,
I know for sure
That armed struggle
And violence took place
Right where I walk,
But now the breeze
Carries only the sound
Of bird's songs

My feet swish through
Meadow grass,
No longer mud
From Flanders fields,
I like,
No in fact I love
Walking here now,
Will you perhaps
Come walk here too?
I hope I am proof that if not new tricks, this old dog has learned to be his authentic peaceful loving self
silvervi Dec 2023
It's ok to make mistakes, ask for help and to not know.
Mackongo Nov 2023
a sense of shame brought upon by old social media profiles
a glimpse, a gaze, a window to my past,
and the cringe and depression comes flooding back.

a quick purge to the page shall do,
but im not sure thats good enough,
but it helps to know im in a better place,
the one that "she" was searching for.

lonely and confused i was,
but now that i'm mature,
i can love myself more.
i go by they/them now and i am a much happier person. its a learning experience. fill yourselves with love, and to find something to love, whether it is a person, a pet, or a hobby.
Man Nov 2023
How I shall never find myself
So fortunate an opportunity
As to see the clouds part.
But I still hope they do
Josephine Wild Oct 2023
Why I wanted to know about horses?

Just precisely that: to know.

To know the species, their characters, their souls.

To know how to respect, accept,
and control.

To know the nuances and knowledge
only experience brings.

When I said I want to know horses,
what I meant were these things.
Reflecting on my intentions on learning to ride a horse
Joshua Phelps Sep 2023
Didn’t use to
hesitate for
a single second,

Jumping to

And headfirst
into all the

I never doubted
a word you said,

Even if the words
I said weren’t so

I never
learned to put


Lived my
life, hiding
in fear of

It’s not an
easy thing to

I know all
the things
I’ve done.

Saying sorry won’t
make it all come undone.
Sometimes apologizing isn't enough. I'm still learning to let go, and realize that not everything can be mended. Sometimes you have to leave it broken, so you can pick up your own pieces.
irinia Jul 2023
as I am trying to learn as much as I can
from the self of trees, wind, of bees and birds
of the unlanguaged child I still am, from
wise men and women through the arch of time
I am well aware that we can keep each other captive
inside the machinery of make-believe that makes lonely
bodies & sunsets bearable
I can't help feeling I am just this,
a vagabond in such a deep mystery
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