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Ssoho Jan 6
Rachael Anderson Dec 2019
I know not if those eyes are green or blue;
I only know they hold pastures and oceans.
Warm, lush pastures that draw me by their comfort,
In which I sit and speak and soak and rest.
Tossing, swelling oceans where my power
Is forsaken in the never-ceasing waves of beauty.

You claim they boast a tint of gray, but I must disagree
The gray appeared when those eyes began reflecting me.
JT Nelson Dec 2019
Pasture hills sloping
Green blades rushing
Wave after wave flowing

Falling and rising

Sailing straight
Clouds ignoring
The grounded race below
I love the sight of the wind whipping through the grass on a hilly pasture
Logan Oct 2018
A boy’s bloodshot eyes
guide his body
atop the dry
mountain pasture

The daylight wanes
A mass of tents flank him

He shakes his head
with a wince
to the sight
of a tent that he calls home

The daylight wanes
A mass of tents flank him

The words welcome home
are scribbled
on a cardboard doormat
with permanent marker

The daylight wanes
A mass of tents flank him

Looking at the vast open land
below, he sees

    billowing clouds form shadows
    that undulate across the terrain 

The daylight wanes
A mass of tents flank him

He rests his head that night
feeling peace
this too shall pass
b Oct 2018
i might leave a greener pasture
for a field of blue roses.
and some time spent
on the coast.

these hands were built
for bricks and
failure. made for
disappointment like a
bowling alley gutter.

dont even get me
started on the rest of it.
i have too much of a
bad thing and we are all
children at play.

i am known to leave
a good thing behind.
but ive never had
a great thing before,
so im not sure
how to feel.

i could start softening
the mortar again,
or just suffer in silence.
Joanna Charis Aug 2018
Just like a wanderer lost
in the pastures of your soul;
Take this heart of mine——
it’s yours to keep and to hold.
Crystal Freda Sep 2017
She awakes
as the dawn nearly awakens
Rising above the river banks
the moon is slowly disappearing.

She walks on the pasture
watching the lake ripple
as the wind brushes against her
she looks to the sky.

A blue light sky
a color between dark and light
shines where the flowers lie
turned to periwinkle dandelions.

Her hand picks up the tips
as her breath touches the top.
Nearly brushing her lips
watching where the petals go.
Sonkei Ichimaru Oct 2014
The Man: It is I, your hero, your hero made of steel. Ready to protect you from those ready to **** and steal...

The Woman: Who is my hero? Who is my king? Who is the one who rebukes those relentless fiends?

The Man: It is I, your faith, your faithful loving love, the Awesome God Almighty, as faithful as a dove.

The Woman: You live far away in Heaven, and I’m a country-side girl. Why do You call my name when I’m as robust as a man?

The Man: I gave you your yellow hair, the shadow of the radiant sun. I gave you your freckles, the night stars scattered on your precious face.

The Woman: I raise hens all day long, I rear pigs all day long, yet You seek me my hero, and watch me as intensely as a hawk.

The Man: I am here for you, and you exist for Me. How then can I neglect you when your heartbeats call unto Me?
I formed the mountains, and I shaped the valleys, but you I created in My likeness and for My honour.

The Woman: Surely I have nothing to offer You, a lone country girl. You own all of Heaven, where the gold’s as clear as glass.

The Man: The gold may be pure, the waters may be clear, but I could never surrender My life for them as I did for you that yesteryear.

The Woman: Don’t flutter me with words, my new found King of Steel. I have nothing to offer You as You fill my heart with joy.

The Man: You do hold something, something I deem as of great worth. It is your heart My young princess, My daughter and My love.

The Woman: You’re the Rider on the White Horse, but I’m a poor farmer on a dull mule,

*(The document ends here as it has disintegrated too far to be able to make retrieve more of the work.
It is kept in an unspecified museum.)

— The End —