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Softly you touch my back I feel your comfort
Our eyes meet, with just one look you reassert
Your gentle hand brushes the side of my face
Our first kiss in this beautiful space

You hold my hand in crowded places
I feel protected, suddenly time erases
As I wander down the streets with you
My internal voice says “I can’t believe this is true”

You ameliorate and allow growth that is full of light
Never have I known such an enchanting delight
Two captivating souls, scars internal
Magical words reminiscent of a verbal journal

Perfectly imperfect is what you allow me to be
Each time we’re together I feel so free
You see me, the beauty and the scars
I feel like you were sent from the stars
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.
Pasandula Sep 28
Lulling to the cicadas screeching
Bulging dew drops shimmering
Tree limbs grasping moonlight
Fireflies flickering ever so
Fairies tickling flowers; so
Centaurs galloping bare, but
It's true that I should admit
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.
Imagine an enchanted;



A flourishing verdant
evergreen grove,

oxygen-filled particles
of Wish Light

A vintage letter falls
from the elder oak boughs;

Floating to your feet

Sonorously you read,

After a week sheltered inside from hazardous wildfire air in the Northwest, it's time to scribe a change.
Alex Aug 20
She told me what makes her smile.
And the happiness lit up the  room,
While mellifluous music played,

I am in cloud nine,
Lost my thoughts up above,
Ignoring whatever she says,

And I swear I've never been in space,
A magnetic field that pulls me in,
All around me were blurry,

But her eyes,
There's something about her magical eyes,
It always mirrors any emotions,

And she turned up the questions,
' what makes you happy?'
'looking at your eyes'
Nathalie Aug 20
I remember the weeping willow's
shine in the moonlight that night
How radiant it glowed
even though its branches
were showing signs of melancholy

I remember the echo of the wind
moving through the air, a soft
breeze, barely audible
but felt at a palpable level
of shimmering hope

I remember the look you wore,
the depth of your longing
unveiling your love, in harmony
with that perfect time
one you had patiently waited for

I remember that magical
feeling, being swept in
the enchantment of the moment;
the embodiment of a dream
awakening to its life.

Norman Crane Aug 13
another day, another lotion,
sighed, “much rather be making potions.”

tedium, boredom, boil and bubble,
add a spice, then add it double,
stir it well and let it settle,
in a kettle,
made of metal.

what's your fancy, what's your trouble?
basin clogged with dwarven stubble?

make one balm,
you've made them all!
concoct a cream, a cream?—a cream!
one more grog burn,
swear I'll scream!

tedium, boredom, boil and bubble,
add a spice, then add it double,
stir it well and let it settle,
in a kettle,
made of metal.

give me dragons, give me daggers,
give me jewels with emerald feathers!
give me—“what?
what's this, right now?
of course I know exactly how!”

roots to find, true essence to distill,
no, but pays the bills.
Jammit Janet Jul 17
I’m thinking in paintings & graphic novels,
Ink flowing through my veins,
Brimming to the top with genres,

Spitting words,
With devilish curves,

As I twirl,
My wrists through arcs,
And sagas,
Open the pages with,
Full of romance and science,

Weave you through webs of emotion,
That make you feel, see, and hear,
Reality erosion,
As you weep, grieve, and cheer,

Then lull you to sleep,
In my cradle of feeling,
Secure and heard,

Feel my magic,
Through my art,
Warm your insides,
With my heart.
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