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Adrian Nov 2020
Green to amber,
And amber to brown;
Reflective blue
To a tumultuous gray.
Glimmering dew
Now a shining frost.

The sun,
Once beaming overhead
Now longingly gazes sideways,
Bestowing a more gentle light
Over the delicate landscape.

The marsh is ever changing,
But I feel the same.
I’ve been here for a year... it went by so quick. I’m amazed. I’ve written over 500 poems and used 11 thousand words. But I have a question: does the word count count how many different words I’ve used, or how many words are in all my poetry? It could go either way with me, so I really don’t know.
Regina Jul 2020
summer, marsh concert
wind blows reeds
herons, bullfrogs' songs
Adrian Jan 2020
Draped in a cloudy cloak,
The light is filtered
Onto this marsh once more.

But a crack near the horizon
Lets some straggling beams fall,
And reflect off the salty water.
Now all the marshen rivers
Are made of liquid gold.
Sorry if it’s bad, it’s my best attempt as of late.
Adrian Jan 2020
A dulling gold plain
split into many pieces
by the high tide water.
The water flows steadily,
a rather small motion
that breaks the illusion
of stagnant salty ice.

the concrete bridge
stands like a gravestone;
marking the time of old,
and barely intact
to see the present hour.

The unfiltered sun
shines ever so brightly,
as if a golden amber blanket
is lain caringly upon
this dead winter marsh,

giving it light,
giving it life.
that bridge is kinda old... I honestly hope it doesn't collapse soon I think it says 1919 on it. I never noticed how beautiful this marsh was until today.
I let him know how I smiled at the way his hand fitted inside of mine, and oh how I fancy his love, but instead of love all he handed me whatever he found laying around, and an unwanted bye.

I let him know I love him with no gray areas attached. If you know him, then you know he has a heart that is hard to catch. shielded by a rain-forest of mirrors glazed over in metallic black.

Still, in my darkest hour, I muster up holocausts of hope, as I watched my love and what he called love to walk away on a free falling tightrope. I could hear his words faintly in the distance over and over again.

"In time what will be will be".
"In time what will be will be".
"In time what will be will be".

His words felt less like a song and more like our eulogy, but I am still hopeful and will love him until my heart is worn out. I will not let my mouth forbid me to speak what my heart needs him to hear.

What do you do with a heart that won’t give up or let go, what has let go of it? But I am still hopeful like twins in a crowded womb, hopeful like waiting for a chance.

And one day I will teach my soul to give sunlight back to the sun and continue to hold the dear words Jonathan never sang.
Blade Maiden Sep 2018
"hush dear, be safe with us"
of whimpering
"liars, don't listen, don't make a fuss"
"you can't pretend, in your head it's all about us"
My reflection
mirrored in a strangers frown
creature creeping
underneath my gown
is it me, sweeping
give to whom it belongs, this heavy crown

In your pictures
the conflict hides
through pretty gestures
beauty subsides
and love with its tiring lectures

I don't give a ****
about your empty phrases
turned down praises
Watch me pull the plug
Your insincerity amazes
as I watch you feast on a deers pluck

You're not a dog
all you do is bark
getting rid of carcasses at the bog
listen closely and hear the lark
we all get lost in the fog
see if you can catch a spark
listen closely and hear the frog
you will see me in the dark

O' marshes!
Swallow up the gale
Which farthest I could hear,
Ne'er I belong such privilege
By myrtle over there.
Recollecting where the pod
To whom I left behind,
The continent,
The humble swamps,
Surpassing us again.

Devin Ortiz Jul 2017
The flesh flies buzz on the old bog,
Tattered, forgotten in the forest of tainted dreams.

The foul air, in its humid fever,
Carries the stench of death, and secrets between friends.

The muck, thick and rot with fears,
And time too, seems to lose itself in the swamp's embrace.
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