Posts
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Not A Fool.
You always wait until the moon disappears,
before looking up at the stars,
now seeing them for how beautiful they are.
Without the moon, the sea knows how vain
you truly are, but you are merely a shadow forged from light. -
“You’re So Mature.”
Most adults think I’m ‘mature’ for my age.
They say it like it’s some reward,
like I’ll get a Medal of Honor for being so mature
for the very little years I’ve spent on this planet, I call home. -
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Will the wind blow away your love?
Will you fall away from what you love the most?
Like the autumn leaves?
Will you say your gentle goodbyes?
Like flying geese?
Are you going to sugar coat all that you do? -
Shooting Stars
As a child,
deep within my restless nights,
I'd sit by my window,
and hope for a shooting star.
The star that could grant any wish I had.
I would mistake a satellite
for a shooting star,
and wish for something small. -
The willows
I long for that warm feeling,
but not in the form I already know.
I am well versed in its song,
full of unspoken lyrics
I know by heart,
the words are engraved in my head.
I long for the song of the Willow Tree, -
The Little Things I Favor
I love the feeling of a rainy day,
when the air is frigid,
and everything feels gloomy.
I love sitting next to the bay,
listening to the waves crash against the shore,
as I read in the cool shade, on the sand.
Loves
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The Dance of Love and Hate
Love is a river, its current flowing fast,
Its depths unknown, yet teeming with life that lasts.
Beneath the surface, secrets lie in wait,
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On Moths and Butterflies
You must never touch a butterfly
and fear its fragile wings
for if you touch a butterfly
what horrors your touch brings
The dust glitters as it falls
and the insect starts to wilt
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The Eldest of the Seasons
if life is but a dream for the dead
may you visit us during autumn, the eldest of the seasons
letting your fragile bones be exposed to the crisp air of october
letting your fingertips run over the bars of the cemetery gates
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Falling Words
We reach for the sunlight,
as it
leaves us shadows
of the mountains
in the meadows.
We look for
the milkweed,
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In the season of change...
Autumn is upon us, the season of change!
Soon the trees shall burn,
and the colors echo in the hearts of the valley.
And the river, endless winding thing,
is slowly turning icy cold.
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