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Omen!
The  soul connection she felt with him was her first omen!
Most precious one but may be not the happiest.
Last winter, the green leaves  dried out.
East wind changed  it's fragrance.
Words of moment were altered.
Sign of Olives came  by that wind,
  was like the last one.
That time, she  forgot the quest of treasure,
Distance of thought was getting higher than ever.
But she thought the cascade of waiting is over.

Maktub!

It was  the time of realism for Another Omen,
No Time  for lamenting for the past thought she had.
Maktub!  New omen comes by changing the path of destiny, Not the destiny itself.
Persue of life meant to be followed anyway!

The Enchanted dream  that she has ,
was the  part of her melody of soul;
Only meant to become true.
After the long night,
At the moment of dawn,
Silence of heaven whispers the eternal truth of destiny!
Maktub!
Omen of Life - Inspired by the book "Alchemist"
Emily Donoher Jul 25
pearl feathers you refuse to call white
scared it would mean something if you did
scared your scepticism will cup cold palms
around your warming neck and squeeze
what little belief you have out of you
a corpse will always be a corpse
but the soul of a wanderer will wander
into the wind and sky and I
and you too if you just let him
so let him

let him be the breeze
that forces you to stop counting
the number of days that have passed
since he last hugged you

let him be your buoy that
serves ground in an ocean
that knows of no stillness

let him be
the flickering light
the white butterfly
the fallen feather

he will be forever with us
let him be
Navi Jul 8
I saw you from the corner of my eye
Flash black, you showed your face but yet your gaze couldn’t meet mine
Uneasy goodbye and sage burnt soon. Left this lingering feeling
Were you someone I knew?
Burning crosses, swarming birds
City in flames, anti-Christ stirred
You're far from being a hero
My dear Nero.

Motherly omens, fiddle music
Jealous rage, killing cupid
When will your reign end,
My haunted friend?

An angry senate, an empty boat
A mad man stabbed in the throat
By his own hand, by his own wish
I want your head served on a dish.

This is your bloodbath, Emperor
Hell is now you empire.
Thoughts?
StormriderIX Apr 24
I'm an ill omen,
I'm told.

It doesn't faze me.
I just put my mask on.

I become
a puzzle,
a labyrinth,
impossible to read,
not me anymore.

I'm an ill omen,
I'm told.

I wear my mask.
I'm fine.


I cry rivers inside.

You can't see how it breaks me.
You can't see how you hurt me.

I realised only now.

This isn't good.
This isn't alright.

Just because I can take it,
doesn't mean I should.

I bow out from this hell.

I will no longer apologise
for being me.

I'm an ill omen,
I'm told.  
                 Your loss.
.
I came to a courtyard of my own making,
To a cottage by the sea at the worlds edge.
I furnished it with my left over life, complete,
Barren and colorless and I wrote the newest
Book of psalms out of tinder and flame, a tome
Of grey and useless poems, unheard of songs
And reams of flesh.  There in the lightest dark,
By the Druid stone that was placed just for me,
I planted a creeping yew tree.  And the moon
Sang in celebration and silence like a fallen
Priest.  
                    Under the covering hazel trees,
That sprung to life after the longest winter,
Which taught me to forget my name, I now
Struggle with light and my body, warring, torn
Is fading slow, like the always arriving, down
Turning solstice, the climates of the mind,
Where it is digging the never ending shallow
Hole only the spreading eternal yew, that I
Planted, will ever know and only the Lazarus
Moon shall ever rise above.

I came to a courtyard of my own making,
Was it dream that led me there or my eyes?
.
Pax Mar 1
A repetitive omen
that we learn to avoid
over time.
Still bad at it, but im Learning though it takes time, patience is all i have.
SWebster Nov 2019
It’s not big this crow of mine.
Head cocked, observing time.
Perfectly sized to sit upon my windowsill,
Reminding me that dread and fear are a bitter pill.
It calls to me
Stopping me.
I can’t hide and I can’t pretend,
It sees me, watches me my friend.
Waiting and lurking till the end.
Liam Clare Nov 2019
His injured hand bleeds
As he became with greed
A simple change to him
For a large exchange
His mind is a stray
The greed is at play
The money weighs
His mind is broken
His words are spoken
Greed is an omen
That I like so very golden
The money changes his mind, takes away from him turns him into something hes wasn't. He is unable to change.
This heart is going to stop.


It may be a scarry sound next to a pub,
A silent scattershot in a shop to rob,
An exciting smell in a chemic lab,
Or a short nap in a taxi cab.


Only God knows how it will end,
Passing through that particular land.


But indeed this heart is about to cease.


It is the keen and slow pain that nobody sees,
The heavy carelessness bringing no ease,
The fast heart-beaten minutes I lose,
My non-existent ecography's hues.


Only God knows how it ends,
While I'm passing through all these lands.
18.01.2018
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