We often seek love with mind and logic not knowing that in its world It lets us walk on water, It lets us see the rainbows in pitch-black darkness, It takes us to the moon and back It fills the void In our souls, It lets us plant the seeds of hope In barren lands Don't you see? Nothing in this is rational My Dear! Everything in Love, and its world is Magical...
A pixie a nixie, a fae all day, To these I must say oh me oh my, oh what am I to do on this fine day, this fine day in early may with pixies in the air and nixies in the sea the fae of the day, all around me.
I am a mystery yet to be discovered I am a contradiction a model of possibilities I am driven to succeed Stopped mid speed I am a lover deeply passionate With no one to call my own I am habit forming full of wonder & lust I am all of me and more I am deeply devoted Yet wildly ambitious I am so many things I am so many emotions I am waiting for the divine Hoping for a rather 🔥'y explosion throwing me every where to become pixie dust
The night I met you, it wasn’t the first time. In another lifetime I knew you. Instantly warmed, I moved closer to you which I have never done to someone before. It was was on the night of October 31st, the second full moon in the month. The irony in it all. The way you touch me, Kiss me, Caress my frame and face. You feel like home And for once I do not feel like the doormat.
The poetic apprentice constantly ponders and plans. He dreams up wondrous writings that through critisms can stand. He imagines mystical miracles he elaborates with his hand Unending possibilities his vast Mind demands
He scoures the depths and peruses vast heights. He indulges crisp, cool mornings and envelops the nights. He listens for lyrical lullabies and observes majestical sights. He journeys throughout space as he embarks on jaw-dropping flights.
The poetic apprentice searches The depths of his heart He dissects it and reads it And tears it apart. Then divulges it's secrets And crafts them into his art
He wishes so dearly that his Work becomes no disaster He keeps his senses in tune In hopes he'll one day be a master As more work pours out the Pressure grows faster and faster But he'll slow down and humble himself As his work evolves and becomes vaster
Now the poetic apprentice sighs A great sigh of relief He wipes off his brow As he mumbles "good grief!" His work is now over his work is complete. He knows they will like it. Its his faith, his belief
The poetic poet now bows To you, his work is bequeathed
I was just trying to bring a writing forward again from a slightly different angle. Just trying to be a little unique with my approach. Ive been thinking a lot of how I need to learn and grow. So through that the idea of an apprentice came to mind. I thought writing in 1st person as I wouldn't create much of a persona with the character. It would have just been me and that's not quite as interesting to write about. That's kind of the thought process with this one.
Lulling to the cicadas screeching nightly Bulging dew drops shimmering brightly Tree limbs grasping moonlight tightly Fireflies flickering ever so slightly Fairies tickling flowers; so sprightly Centaurs galloping bare, but knightly It's true that I should admit rightly Nights at the grove are nothing but sightly
The beautiful nights that make a poet's mind wonder into the deep deep lusts of illusive myths and the aspiring grace of nature at its darkest.
Call it Quicksilver- something I hold to, leave and return to, lose in dark leaves; never quite keeping, thoughts flit, and are fleeting, covered with sheaves. Sleep, and its missing, ne'er to return; Hold! Feel its kissing, overtake with its burn- late to my tongue, but one part of the sum, sifted like rays in the afternoon sun. Call it Quicksilver- that thing dreamt at mid-day; call for it, longing- but its gone; slipped away.