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Personalized Poems and Verse from PersonalVerse.com | Custom Poetry and Writing weblog archives
for the day Thursday, July 22nd, 2010.
Featured Poet | GrammarFreak
Featured Poet | GrammarFreak
To contact this poet go to: http://isthisreality.webs.com/
Wandering Through the Forest Mention fleetingly that you’re going to a friend’s house. You’re not really, Are you? Instead, you turn left, along the path; Not right, towards the village. You’re going towards the forest. The magical forest Your mother says it’s off limits. What she doesn’t know, Won’t ever hurt her. You reach the edge of the forest. It’s dark in there And cool. Taking out your Jacket from your bag, You slip off your shoes And put them into the bag, Along with the sketch pad And pastel blue pencil case. You know the sweet spot. Tip toe, Barefoot on the cool, dry leaves. Quietly; It’s like there’s A big do not disturb sign. You here a bird chirp here, Nervous scurrying there. Suddenly a strong wind Picks up. Blows, almost howling. Awakens the whole forest The loose leaves, Now floating around your knees, The trees, now alive. Watching. You’re nearly there. It’s a small clearing. Like Jacob’s Ladder, A patch of sun Shines upon the grass Between gnarled old Maple Tree roots. You sit, and lean against one. Now you watch silently And wait. You take out your pad and pencils. You run a pale hand over the roots, Then sketch them. You sketch the critters That scurry with Such nervous haste. The trees; The entire forest. In all its beauty, It’s your one spot To truly call your own. Where by taking off your shoes, You can feel the leaves, Feel her breaths; Beneath your feet. It’s your place Where you Can feel alive.
As I Sit
As I sit,
I stare
At the bright blank page.
It screams at me:
Write something meaningful,
Or humorous,
But something people
Will actually like.
And if it turns into a chore,
You must cease.
As I sit,
And ponder,
I stare around my surroundings
Whatever to write about?
I wonder.
Perhaps a dashing man,
A lost cause;
A yearning love.
Perhaps a wild horse;
Or even one of
My fears;
My dreams.
Behind this veil,
I write what I wish.
Those people
Who read this
Won’t ever know
Whether it’s imagination
Or maybe something more.
As I sit,
I smile.
For what
I have created
May not be a masterpiece,
But, man;
Writing it
Was like living a second life.
Mato Finds True North | Video
Mato Finds True North | Video
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