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Renn Powell Sep 20
maybe it will never change

maybe we will still be flowers on the side of the road

still no place to call home

but still flowing in our veins is the wildness and adventure that

we’ve always known to be

we would be gleaming with vivd colors.

still trying to survive

the droughts
the rains
the storms
the heat
the wind
the bitter cold

when winter comes along, and someone doesn’t stop to pick you next and we will be left

to wilt


something once so beautiful and fragile

now lifeless and limp.

r. Powell
kl Aug 27
they whisper upon a ravaged land
rooted as death takes life’s sweet hand
they all conspire to bloom and grow
despite the powers that told them no
An operational forestry lament for the plants that don’t hold economic worth
Christina S Jul 25
In a field of wildflowers
I feel touched by God
As if heaven descended
upon this forgotten earth

The sky is a perfect blue
Well, you know the kind
This place untarnished
Awarded to no person

Time crawls by here
As I take in the aroma
And the bounty of color
I leave them, wild and free
Trying my hand at writing free style. I think it would have been easier to rhyme....LOL
Basil Watkins Jul 20
Hello boy bee,
I'm look so sexyyy,
I smell so sexyyy:-
I'm an orchid.
I'm doing ***.
You're so stupid,
Visit another one
Of me.
Seanathon May 16
As eyes see surely
Blue lylac on a green hill
Wavering with ease
So also these yellow sails
Grace the white canvas born free
Wildflowers and lylac scene
Kaity Mar 29
I am of the wild

I am thunder, and rain, and absolute chaos

I was raised to run with wolves

And I will not be rearranged by the hands of man

I am a butterfly flitting across your nose

Hair of vine, of wind, of water

Unbound by gravity, melting into the golds and greens of the forest

I tear down homes with my hurricane

I rage like wildfire

Bathing and dancing in the moonlight

I lift up my chin, calling out to the nature around me

I protect the things the rest of the world forgot

Snails and slugs and broken flowers

My eyes hold the moon and stars

They twinkle with madness

I am an oak tree

Branches and roots tangle between the feet of men

I am the wind slipping through the world

Undetected leaving my mark if you know where to look

I knew what I was doing when

I invited the wild in
Abigail Hobbs Mar 25
Golden boy, tell me you love me
under the distant, golden sun
In a golden grained field
where we can explore this love
Amidst the grained plain
where wildflowers roam
where wildflowers it has gained.
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