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While amongst the tresses of velvet night upon the moon river there lived a fairy that felt the echoes as she caressed her fingers upon the silvery water, she was the one with the dark eyes as bright as stars and a heart purer than the first snowfall, the voice of her glided through the clear waters and high into the wind as the leaves danced to her ethereal barefoot step through the mist shrouded forest where her companions, the fawns and the birds, were at peace where they lived. Until a traveler arrived one night and was enchanted by the soft, honey breath of her symphony, Indeed, in harmony they were, as the strums of his lute shared with her voice until time had passed for the mortal traveler and his spirit left the forest. The fairy and the animals were saddened by his leaving, so the fairy flew to the branch they sat upon that neighbored the celestials and she found a strand of silver blonde hair as a memory of her lover. Soon, she then returned to her companions and buried the strand within the earth, then, with the power of the sun and the fairy’s tears, a plant soon arrived as the flower of Galanthus.
Jenish Apr 2020
Let me
O love, to love
With my heart, throng with love
When life, sketching shades of sundown
Kiss me..
Once more sit side by side my bed
With tears, I'll clean my eyes
And trace echoes,
Let me
Raz Jorden Jun 2019
You knock at my mind
And I won’t let you enter
You circle my silhouette
Slip in through the shadow
behind the heart chakra
Is that where you hide
Where I find the chains of you
And so I had this key
You remember it
Ah, you still have it
Swept under bridges,
You store it
Kept quiet until later
When it’s all over
And time doesn’t matter
When nothing else matters
That is where we exist
Forever entangled,
In the mess of our intentions
Never re-entering
Only remembering
Secretly within
the echoes of our mind
Lonely and waiting for admittance
Raz Jorden Apr 2020
I gave you my wings but you let me fly
Wishing wells forever echo our sound
With painted feathers of lost memory
I sweep silent my old bones from the ground
Bhill Apr 2020
the answers are not ready to be heard
questions from the ancients are still spinning
twisting, turning, swirling and churning
drifting in and out of the minds that maintain the stamina
having substantial durability throughout timeless echos
stories, of the stories, passed on with no conclusions
the answers are not ready to be heard
not yet

Brian Hill - 2020 # 104
Wait for the answers...
Nicholas Feb 2020
Your desperation
reeks
so much that you can
smell it in your bed
and you can hear it
in your head.
Sometimes you’d like to
fill it with
lead
so that you’ll really
be in your bed
where you can still
hear her voice
as it
echoes
in your head
like it did in the
valley.
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