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#natureandlove
In a meadow lush and green, beneath the warm glow of the summer sun, two young hearts— innocent and bright— walked together from morning until the fading light. School bells had fallen silent, summer calling them away, to this wide, whispering meadow where tall grasses sway. Flowers bloomed, soft breezes wandered, and in golden light they stayed. Hand in hand— yet words unspoken. A love so deep it needed no token. Eyes would meet… then quickly turn away, each afraid their heart might give them away. Laughter drifted soft and sweet, as they wandered freely, barefoot through the meadow grass. Through fields of dreams untold, wrapped gently in summer’s warmth. Each glance— a secret. Each touch— a quiet thrill. In that meadow time itself stood still. Two souls dancing, shy and free, in love— yet silent as love can be. The sun dipped low, the sky grew gold, and the day slowly grew old. Yet their story remained untold. Still, in that meadow their love stayed— waiting patiently for the words they longed to say.
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Mar 10
Mar 10, 2026 at 7:39 AM UTC
Silent Love in Summer's Meadow
*** In a meadow lush and green, beneath the warm glow of the summer sun, two young hearts— innocent and bright— walked together from morning until the fading light. School bells had fallen silent, summer calling them away, to this wide, whispering meadow where tall grasses sway. Flowers bloomed, soft breezes wandered, and in golden light they stayed. Hand in hand— yet words unspoken. A love so deep it needed no token. Eyes would meet… then quickly turn away, each afraid their heart might give them away. Laughter drifted soft and sweet, as they wandered freely, barefoot through the meadow grass. Through fields of dreams untold, wrapped gently in summer’s warmth. Each glance— a secret. Each touch— a quiet thrill. In that meadow time itself stood still. Two souls dancing, shy and free, in love— yet silent as love can be. The sun dipped low, the sky grew gold, and the day slowly grew old. Yet their story remained untold. Still, in that meadow their love stayed— waiting patiently for the words they longed to say.
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Mar 6
Mar 6, 2026 at 5:15 AM UTC
Silent Love in Summer's Meadow
He is the light breaking through the trees at dawn. The dust that falls softly from the stars. The wind that blows leaves into the air. And the moon beaming on her skin so fair. Subtleties with remarkable beauty. His love lives within the universe— so truly. He is the light breaking through the trees at dawn. She will cherish a love until she is gone.
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Jul 24, 2025
Jul 24, 2025 at 4:06 PM UTC
Until She Is Gone
She writes in whispers, in echoes that stay, Carving lost names in the wind’s soft sway. Her ink is sorrow, her verses bleed, A requiem sung for the hearts that need. "When someone who loves us fades away," She mourns the words we failed to say. Regret clings tight in the hush of night, Where silence weeps in the absence of light. Yet love, in her hands, is vast and free, A grand heist stolen from sky and sea. "The sunset’s glow, so bold, so bright," She claims the stars, the waves, the light. For love is not caged—it is wild, untamed, A river that flows, never to be named. She speaks of love beyond mere touch, Of time-defying, endless trust. "Love reshapes, rebuilds, redefines," She whispers of love that never confines. A fire that burns yet does not consume, A madness that dances beneath the moon. And when she writes of power’s weight, Of hands that build and hands that break, She lays before us the choice of fate— "Will you rule & hold position of power? OR will you love, and set love free?" Oh, poet of grief, of love, of fire, Your words take flight, they never tire. They carve their names on hearts unseen, A melody woven in gold between. If ever ink could outlive time, It would be yours—sublime, divine.
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Mar 5, 2025
Mar 5, 2025 at 3:00 AM UTC
The Poet Who Holds Time in Her Hands @Melancholy of Innocence
Your voice drips like golden honey, Soft as a sunset melting into the sea. I taste your laughter—wild berries and wine, A melody swirling in the wind’s embrace. Your touch is moonlight—cool and silver, A whispered song that glows in the dark. We speak in colors unseen, And love in echoes unheard.
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Feb 27, 2025
Feb 27, 2025 at 3:11 PM UTC
Synesthetic Poetry