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It's such a pleasant morning
I'm not going to do a thing
I am sitting drinking coffee
I see a lovely display of wings.

I love these early mornings
My working days now done
Watching birds of every kind
They really are such fun .

The crows they are going crazy
There are thousands in the air
But the pigean on my bird stand
He isn't going anywhere.

Now a black bird he is gliding
In harmony with the breeze
He doesn't seem to worry much
He takes refuge in the trees.

What ever happened  to the sparrows
We don't see them anymore
They always used to be around
A little bird that I adore

Maybe there is a message
In the way that these birds sing
Take note of there morning chorus
And there lovely display of wings.
I live on a place called the wood and my house is surrounded by trees
And that means birds. birds of every kind.I sat relaxing drinking a coffee
And their were birds of every kind flying outside my window
Crows seagulls magpies robins and wood pigeons
 Jun 2018 Jesse stillwater
No one
Those who seek love
Don't always find it.

The truth of life
Is a harsh reality to bear.

Those with the strongest emotions
Tend to keep them bottled in.

Those who want happiness
Are seldom able to find it.

That rare sleep in the dead of night
Only lasts for a short moment.

All the best things we have
Slip through our fingers like sand.

How do I know?
I have been there, so many times.

And those who need help the most
Are never able to find it.
I have found that I can only rely on myself. No one else can understand this insane mind.
Nature calved up, decapitated limbs
left in unmarked eulogies, only silence
speaks. The carcasses of the fallen now
lumber atop of each other. A mass grave
of something once tall now fallen & muted.

Within the insects of humanity now infest
this cadaver, putting what once was brethren
upon the flame. A funeral pyre of rings now
turning to ash, warming the lumbering morbidity
that has an aroma of pine cones screaming in the night.

They live within our gravestones of silence.
Nailing there memories within our husks.
Yet they abandon us like we were momentary
needs, for we are lifetimes in their finite moments.
                     And we decay from where we came from.
My take on a cabin as nature would see it..
You are sitting in a small wooden boat
On a beautiful lake in the mountains
You can see the caps of the mountains
Pine trees are all around
The scent of pine fills your lungs
It is refreshing

Your dog is with you
A German Shepherd
Named Sam
It is a warm perfect day
With a cool breeze that blows across your face ever so slightly
It feels good against your skin

The water is calm
Just a few ripples from fish
The lake is crystal clear
You can see to the bottom of it
There are small fish swimming about
You watch them for a while
Entranced by their movements

You put finally something on the end of your fishing pole to attract a fish
You are hoping for a trout

You then cast your line into the lake and wait

You pull out your book and stretch out your legs to relax
Your dog settles in for a nap
You love these moments
They are so peaceful and calm
You love the stillness of the place
Tiny song bird with folded wing
Perched upon the fountain
Lovely tune that you shall sing
To wake up old man mountain.

Like a Lyricist concealed
In the leafy boughs of thought,
Soothing melodies revealed
Before the messenger is sought.

I follow your delightful sound
Carried by the breeze
Hoping you will come around
I wait beneath the trees.

Fluttering from branch to sky
Poetry in your flight
Colors dance before my eye
Whence I have you in my sight.

Little mystic sparrow
Gliding on the air
Like a silvery arrow
With sunlight on you fair

From your nest within the tree
Dewy leaves and tangled vine
You first learned how to hover free
High above the earth divine.

serfinski
In life it seems we are
ultimately powerless in our struggle.
Death is not the end..
it is merely a transition.
Perhaps a long awaited freedom.
Far from the gruelling and meaningless
constraints of mortal existence.
 Jun 2018 Jesse stillwater
BMG
The brilliant boy
He's in this limbo
Almost living
Completely dying.
It's all so poetic really.
Killing everyone
everything for something;
for the love you
desperately think you can get back
Even though you are the cause
of every single thing
that has happened
of everything that you have lost.
You made the decisions that
Got you here
Now it’s war
Mayhem
Fighting everyone around you
but truthfully fighting yourself.

"It's always been his job to fix this."

That’s what you convince yourself
Your job to make things right
You believe that murdering it all
will end it.

He thinks it’ll take him
completely back
to the beginning.
It won’t
You can’t
You are so far gone
You’re killing yourself
Brilliant.
I wrote this about a boy I use to know. He always believed he was responsible for making everything better, even if he was making it worse. Strubborn, he would never walk away. He’d **** himself and everyone around him to make a point. Any point at all.
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