you arrive, little bird, earth 
trembling, here are your wings;

a wash of dark like rivers,
past the plains and the stars,
whispering silence —

sometime a poem is a time capsule, 
a single moment 
etched with memory,

sometimes they are a dream, 
or the earth herself… 

hands stained with ochre, 
rewriting the past… 

the caverns, echoing with warmth, 
flickering lamps, lighting a 
path to where you are, but 

I wonder why, the key is rusted and 
the door, unused, why you are 
so far, swaying in the blue? 

dear heart,

when you tread these paths again,
I’ve left the candle burning, 
it’s raining, and I am a seeker

of thunder.

wildthingsandmagic:

The heat of the day is fading,
Everything that lives beneath the sun,
going -
dreams whisper on
soft beds, a
shadow
beneath
a silhouette, moon
blooming,
I am
night flowers kissing
the breeze.

@nosebleedclub // august prompt xvii. - the heat of the day

I just realised that I want friendships that are honest, which is an act of kindness, but is not the same as kindness for the sake of kindness. I want friends that don’t accept my limitations at face value, who aren’t concerned with being nice, who can call a spade a spade and do so with integrity. Who may chill a room a little with what they say, yet in doing so, they are being honest to themselves and with the other.

wildthingsandmagic:

In that field of grass -
She will meet you there
where the swallows fling
themselves, all tiny mass
around,
and you will blink
your eyes slow,
take in the blue,
your fingers
reaching to trace a line,
thread a strand of hair
behind her ear,
such tenderness in your hands and
you, windows deep with thought.

@nosebleedclub // august prompt - vi. deep field

wildthingsandmagic:

The essence of a mountain is in the way it is there, solid and quiet, unassuming and unmoving… humming with a silence that is vast, unending to the mind. 

The essence of a tree is in the way it grows, rooting down into the deep underground, a reservoir of strength and solidarity, that its branches and leaves may sway. 

The essence of the sky is in the way it is boundless, borderless, ephemeral and full of space, holding its emptiness like a canvas. 

The essence of the sea is in its fathomless depth, its darkness and mystery, all the places of unknowability where the light fades and darkness resides. 

The essence of consciousness can be found in all these aspects… but humankind is also a carrier of fire, passion, the potential to create and/or destroy. 

When you repress energy from being expressed, it inevitably finds an outlet in other ways. It is never really repressed… but the place where it cannot come through, will always carry that ache. You can run a thousand miles in every other direction and find places and modalities for it, you can use altered states of consciousness to catalyse its expression through the art of movement… you can liberate it in that form, but this place that has not been traversed… this place is spilling with pain. 

i.

Mist on the mountaintop;
places you run with the whispering 
wind. 

ii.

time; a languid stretch of mind… 
burning to ask… god —
who is laughing with the stream, and

the question is gone. 

iii.

sun; descending over sea. 

The essence of a mountain is in the way it is there, solid and quiet, unassuming and unmoving… humming with a silence that is vast, unending to the mind. 

The essence of a tree is in the way it grows, rooting down into the deep underground, a reservoir of strength and solidarity, that its branches and leaves may sway. 

The essence of the sky is in the way it is boundless, borderless, ephemeral and full of space, holding its emptiness like a canvas. 

The essence of the sea is in its fathomless depth, its darkness and mystery, all the places of unknowability where the light fades and darkness resides. 

The essence of consciousness can be found in all these aspects… but humankind is also a carrier of fire, passion, the potential to create and/or destroy. 

i.

Blue sway of horizons and an ocean 
between shells, fading from ether,
tipped in wings made to soar, the earth, 

below. 

ii.

Whose melody is over this breeze,
through the forest and the trees,
notes swaying with the ease 

of a thousand eyes, brushed in 
feathers and the silence of death…
who serenades this bridge 

between worlds, steps 
falling on wood like the patter of rain…

iii.

silk at the window, and the shadows 
murmur, into the crevice,
all things that fade at the touch 

of light… left to slumber in a heart
made of dawn —

iv.

like the fire of stars, 

above. 

grimfox:

wildthingsandmagic:

i.

The stones know all the secrets
to silence,
the ways we unsay

this; that the sky is endless 
and we hope dawn comes like 
fire, like rage that has burned its way 
through your veins, 

like passion and life
collapsing into being,
this song

echoing into resonance.

ii.

the little girl who gives you a hug,

quietly to her,
you were saying it’s okay,

all along,

and when you bring another
into focus…
that sprinkle of who they are,

love, it’s a gentle frame

in all the soft words, those are
places made for holding…
you’re learning
a little more every time…

iii.

this is what it feels like…
to be a safe place

for her
to fall down… rise

and try again.

i.

intentions rippling the mirror-pond’s surface
in silence,
the ways we decay

this; the infinity between atoms
and we hope for no spaces
a-voiding, like black beetles in the rot
through your veins,

like violence and life
collapsing into reunion,
this song

an echoing into spirals

ii.

the flower that was crushed underheel

gently to her,
you were weeping i’m here

all along,

and when no other comes
into focus…
that sprinkle of who you are,

peace, it’s gentle wings

in all the harsh truths, those are
shields against the madness…
you’ll learn
that nothing else is needed

iii.

this is what it feels like…
to become god’s wrath

for her
to burn up… out

and ignite again.

the earth shakes your slumber,
night sky; a thousand eyes,
softly burn along the edge of dawn.

i.

The stones know all the secrets
to silence,
the ways we unsay

this; that the sky is endless 
and we hope dawn comes like 
fire, like rage that has burned its way 
through your veins, 

like passion and life
collapsing into being,
this song

echoing into resonance.

ii.

the little girl who gives you a hug,

quietly to her,
you were saying it’s okay,

all along,

and when you bring another
into focus…
that sprinkle of who they are,

love, it’s a gentle frame

in all the soft words, those are
places made for holding…
you’re learning
a little more every time…

iii.

this is what it feels like…
to be a safe place

for her
to fall down… rise

and try again.

syzygy-yzygy:

wildthingsandmagic:

There is medicine 
in sadness too,

falling white like
the silver of clouds. 

Why did this make me cry

@el-secreto-emporium thanks for the tag 🤘

comfort movies:

Howl’s Moving Castle.
Spirited Away.
Memoirs of a Geisha.

comfort series/animations:

The last Airbender/Legend of Korra.
Duoluo Dalu.

comfort drama:

Love and Destiny.

if you see this and want to do it consider yourself tagged!

There’s mist rolling over this land, 
all the things that matter, 
fade to a line out over the horizon, 

deep dusk and shadows are growing, 
the night scape 
is a gentle hue of black. 

All the words echo here, light as a feather,
light as time padding away on feet
sinking into the earth,

all the moss bloom, all the moss
bloom and there’s blood, tinged beneath
the swaying willows, the moon is the only 

one here shedding tears. The moon, 
dear friend, has a thousand dreams she
keeps on shelves, bottles of fireflies 

for the dreamers who knock on her door,
the night has held an eternity of promises,
and as the fireflies rise into the sky, 

they dot the black and become stars.