Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
when in the wilderness,* then the portal seems so long and wide
no matter how heavy the distance is, let go of your deepest sigh ...
at the signal of the time, the wounded mind will exhile in the heart and heal any sore!
because for every success is worth the celebration!
no matter how big or small
even when the lines are not rhyming anymore!

do not be afraid, do not be discouraged, do not let your words slip,
express how you feel by looking up or kneeling.
and when you hold your pen and its loose ink ...
kindly convey your thoughts to a lifetime place that can grow around different corners!
howsoever ...
selfishness can correct the colorless mixture of fire and water
covered by heaven and Earth
and made thru the collision of Love and hatred
until a massive light fades, and obscures the limit of fading *views
detour to }!{ my alter ego!
when my own familiar world lost inside my left brain
but boldly came out to face
what is parallel with
unknown right in my future reality!
Traveler Oct 16
Cutting through the thickets
Where no path was ever laid
I struggle to fine my footing
The sky has now turn grey

Jagged rocks guide my steps
Through thistles and thorny ******
A familiar force within me dives
Struggling to stay alive

I wrestle with the landscape
Until I reach the clearing
There the maple spread its branches
Falling leaves to soften the ground
And so I sleep another
Thousand years...
Traveler Tim

I actually take my dogs out for a walk through landscape just like this out back of my home.
Heidi Johanna Oct 14
When my foolishness
Turned into wisdom
I was in love

Even the sunset
By the evening
Held my flaws

There was certainly no way
I could have left
Without a burning heart
CarolineSD Oct 7
Holiness is there where the druidic
Shadows of the pines rise straight and tall and dark against
The languishing light of day

Fire streaked across the sky
And all the peaks beneath
Graying into the silence of the night

Treading the needles underneath
And how the orange-red remnants of the sun push through the
Empty spaces recessed within the forest's soul,
Motionless bodies of the conifers solemn like
The standing stones of old

And dusk comes in quiet through the timber now

And there is no more hiding,
No more striving and trying,
Just the gentle truth that

We are all dying

And this forest,
Climbing wide across the ravines into the mountains
Holds me without possession

And it would let me go
Like the yellowed leaves that scatter on the earthen floor
Like the last glow of the evening sun
Touching canopies of crimson and gold

And there is this letting go that feels like home.

Like I could reach across this void and hold my mother’s hand
Like these cliffs might drop to the open moorland of the Isles

Where the ghost of my father stands

Like I am pulled back to where I began,

Like the way that it feels

Each time I lay down in your arms.
Blind Pathos Sep 8
Untitled because it is not about any one thing. It is of the stuff written about, untamed, undiscovered… un yet. That which is just beyond. Before the hand reaches it, before the eye sees, before the mind pours it into the shape that is comprehensible. It is pure. It is debauched. It is half and complete. It is the blind mice playing a symphony with small instruments in Schrödinger's black box where he suspects a cat to be. It is the mother of “Ah Ha” and the father of “Eureka” that is this tear.

Be neither this nor that
He nor she thin or fat
Be and being not
From any given lot

That grail of poetry
That makes it be
This lightless paint
What tis and taint

Who may choose may
Find who chooses say
It choose me instead
I am and was dead

Be rabbit or sacred star
Do I follow and how far
If I am weary I resume
My fleshy wick consumed

So big… yet so small
So… yet… so it is all
Great be in my being again
Now at least I have been
Arrogance is required to write on a perfectly white piece of paper. Creative acts require the timid mouse to leave his house and gamble his life for more.
OJ Anuy Sep 3
You were striking like a cobra
Slithering through the night
Simply, minding your own business
Beneath the bright moonlight

Sliding along the jungle floor
I knelt to take a look
Beauty, Power, and Elegance
You had me on the hook

I heard your rattle, saw your strength
I couldn't get enough
I knew it could be dangerous
I knew it could get rough

I chased you down, through your domain
'Till we were face to face
Staring into each other's eyes
I had no time to brace

You lunged at me, mouth open wide
Sharp fangs punctured my skin
From that point on, I had no chance
You quickly locked me in

Your fangs dug straight into my heart
And you became my life
My love for you could not be stopped
I said, "You'll be my wife"

A shot of love straight to my heart
Went coursing through my veins
It spread straight down into my feet
And up into my brain

But then you let go of your grasp
And went off in the night
While I sat still, waiting for you
Hoping for one more bite

Your fangs are gone from in my chest
My heart misses the pain
But your venom and love still course
And pump throughout my veins
CarolineSD Sep 2
So many voices yelling and echoing and cluttering up
Every heartbeat with dissonant commands;
Discordant rhythms
That give chase, pulse racing wildly ahead,
But I can never escape because the speaker is


Who taught me these monologues of doubt?

I’m trying to find some dark corner to crawl into
And hide
From all of the should be’s
And didn’t you’s
And what if’s
And why aren’t you good enough to
And why can’t you just fix everything
And why aren’t you strong enough
To just live
And not break at every streak of light
Surmounting the dregs of night when the morning returns again
And still there is a feeling of falling
And not knowing if you should reach out and hold onto something,
Or not?

And so you just grip your coffee cup as if it were
A solitary rock
In the middle of
A storm-whipped sea
And I really just need to wrap myself around
Something that is made of clay
And dirt,

Drag my spirit through the veins of the earth,
Where the cut-banked canyons rise into a
Reddened western sky  
And release the broad-winged birds to flight.

And everything is quiet

And I know my worth:

No more or less than the brush along the shore.
No more or less than the darting shapes across the river’s floor.
No more or less than the dusk,
Than a gentle touch across my face,

Than love;

No more or less than love

And how it spills like water over rocks
And moves like music through the blood

And how the morning becomes quiet
And I am
Singing softly to my children,

I won’t give up.
Norman Crane Aug 13
fat drips
      fire, sausage crackles—flames
      hiss of steam
Tangles of vine, wisps of thorn,
Roping a rocky face of granite,
High, on a hill are drops of sky,
Green hands cradle purple beads
Of the sun, whose skin is frosted
In water vail, morning days' dew
Has come, birds and bees singing
Songs to hum anew, this offering
All to ancient invitations of spring,
There will be wine and flower laid,
Before rise of moon or day is done.
Next page