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Uuntrix May 2020
She who overthought
Killed herself emotionally.
Pain inside hurts more, they say.
Overthought, overexpected, overloved
She was lost in this world

Now she is living wild
like a Free Spirit.
Stars in her eyes
The Moon is jealous of her.
Modra Galica Apr 2020
She sits and stands, dances and spins.
Laughs a bit and then cries the saddest tear,
no fear in her eyes, a puzzle unsolvable.
And she knows she is capable of anything,
she can do magic and pull any string.
Sometimes a bit empty, in her thoughts she would sit,
every bit of her skin hot and wet, on the edge of the world.
Her glance deceives without you knowing,
her eyes going far while she disappears
to some other loves, never fully happy
curiously lost, those dark and wild things...
and she can stare at clouds for hours,
at rain, black bird's wings...
And then she slips out my hands,
once strong and now weak as spiderweb.
And she sings, what is life but a dream, deception?
Then I admire her, and want her for myself
to hold on to her for another moment.
And as the sunset watches us, I know
I am the one being left without her, alone.
As she seduces, as she chants and sings,
she is my maiden, my God, the black bird's wings.
arsonpoet Apr 2020
The cool night air, raids my skin,
embraces my breath, and holds on to me,
tighter.
As if whispering in my ear, "I love you."
on midnight over the dark horizon.
I sink the feeling of mud on my feet,
my whiskery feet, ebbed with soil.

I feel naked, not in the sense, I'm bare and without apparel,
but of the feeling,
That this is my true self.
Where my wild fantasies can dance,
to every notion and every chord,
of midnight's music, on fret boards, pumping life.
The fact that I am who I am cusps me harder,
and my fantasies, pull me up,
into the musical, whimsical Arabic night.

I rediscover myself, in shattered trees,
left by the wind,
lightning crackles, dancing with joy, as I dance too.
A dance with the devil, the wind spiraling around me,
My thoughts throttled, pushing boundaries.
And my fantasies, becoming my ecstasies,
as the wind slows down, leaving me in relaxation,
like after a man's ******.
Often we need to get lost in nature, to understand our needs and desires.
Michael Luciano Apr 2020
Sometime I'd like to see the bottom fall out.
Pull out all the  stops, be left without a doubt. Let it all hangout, just  let it all  hangout. Drenched it all in gasoline light the fuse and watch em scream. That would be a scene, a scene for me with certainty I can dream can't I?

Sometime I'd like to see the aftermath, see what happens after  that, after the fact.
**** em out,  let's see it out, let's **** em out. I can see it now the freedom aloud to be yourself and not a crowd.  Be it now and be it loud, freedoms child with a golden smile. I can dream can't I?

Sometime I'd like to see the children running wild screaming loud and being wild. Plotting how to burn it down. I am certain now I'd turn a smile, being foul like  burning bile. It's curtains, hang em in the streets like curtains. I can see em now  screaming as they go down. I'm certain,  I can dream can't I?

I can dream can't I? I'm certain I can dream can't I?  Let's burn it down. I'm certain now I am dreaming aloud. It's all curtains. I'm certain how it's burning now with a turning scowl. I'm certain now its curtains. I'm certain I can dream can't I?
déa Apr 2020
i have a yearning
a desire which pangs at my ribs
that aches like an old lover's betrayal
to run into the forest barefoot
to climb up mountains for no reason
swim with my clothes on in the ocean

i yearn to make myself a home
in the feeling of spontaneity.
stay safe everyone, wash your hands and stay inside <3
Tea Apr 2020
42:
The journey is long...
No time to sing a song...
The blazing sun on your heads...
Wondering where the path leads...
As you continue night and day...
You've forgotten how to play...
With only a goal before your eyes...
You walk in the heat that dries...
Frozen waves of sand...
But when you touch them with your hand...
They are burning and easily movable...
Dry throat and legs unstable...
Seeing dreams come true before your eyes...
But, when you come closer, they are lies...
Not able to go forward, against the howling wind...
Sand, wanting to drown you and you fear the end...
Losing sight and sound...
The tiny rocks have you, finally bound...
Waking up after an unknown time in an unknown place...
Of your friend, there is no trace...
Still thirsty, you start walking around...
Following the musical sound...
Tea Apr 2020
41:
The night falls...
Do you hear all the different calls?
There flies the owl...
But I follow the wolf's howl...
I can already hear it louder than before...
There he stands, lonely and poor...
But still, head high as he looks me up and down...
Strong and proud he has grown...
Even though he looks fierce and scary...
I'm not scared by how he is, big and hairy...
I know he is loyal and true...
I don't always know what he'll do...
He has disappeared, many a time, nights and days...
It's almost like a game he plays...
But I end up hearing the familiar yelp...
Then, I'll always answer his call for help...
Sometimes it's a howl of loneliness or power...
Rising high above any other tower...
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
The Wild Hunt
by Michael R. Burch

Near Devon, the hunters appear in the sky
with Artur and Bedwyr sounding the call;
and the others, laughing, go dashing by.
They only appear when the moon is full:

Valerin, the King of the Tangled Wood,
and Valynt, the goodly King of Wales,
Gawain and Owain and the hearty men
who live on in many minstrels’ tales.

They seek the white stag on a moonlit moor,
or Torc Triath, the fabled boar,
or Ysgithyrwyn, or Twrch Trwyth,
the other mighty boars of myth.

They appear, sometimes, on Halloween
to chase the moon across the green,
then fade into the shadowed hills
where memory alone prevails.

Published by Celtic Twilight, Celtic Lifestyles, Boston Poetry and Auldwicce. Few legends have inspired more poetry than those of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. These legends have their roots in a far older Celtic mythology than many realize. Here the names are ancient and compelling. Arthur becomes Artur or Artos, “the bear.” Bedivere becomes Bedwyr. Lancelot is Llenlleawc, Llwch Lleminiawg or Lluch Llauynnauc. Merlin is Myrddin. And there is an curious intermingling of Welsh and Irish names within these legends, indicating that some tales (and the names of the heroes and villains) were in all probability “borrowed” by one Celtic tribe from another. For instance, in the Welsh poem “Pa gur,” the Welsh Manawydan son of Llyr is clearly equivalent to the Irish Mannanan mac Lir. Keywords/Tags: King Arthur, wild hunt, Halloween, Artur, Bedwyr, Valerin, Valynt, Gawain, Owain, Devon, Wales
Max Apr 2020
She lived for her own world.
They laughed at her,
At the birds that land on her,
For people trip over her,
And forget she’s there.

What they fail to realise,
What they will never understand.
Is that she is not like everyone else.

She's a lost girl
She's a wild girl

No one understands that birds land on her,
Because inside she’s filled with flowers.
They forget she’s there because her soul is in another world.

She’s a lost girl
She’s a wild girl
She’s a free girl
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