Home is where you’re comfortable. Where you’re at ease and see How you can accept and relish beauty It is tied to identity and who we wish to be It is a place, a hope, a memory, a destination It is the self and others It is transient yet an anchor I once knew a restless girl Who traveled the world in search of home. She found it within herself And she was free. Home here grows and it knows you and it wants you here where you are comfortable and free. Home here is happy and shows you who you are and where you want to be.
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Poem of a crazy dream
You were there, your face looked like a leopard then it transitioned into an angel moon. Ghosts danced about then fire fell from the sky and the fire was glowing multicolored orbs. Where they struck steam sprouted and out leaped multicolored frogs, bright and glowing and poisonous. The ground shook and the frogs vaporized. A deep low voice grumbled “This is the sixth extinction.” The forests burned and glaciers fell from the sky, and we were in a cold ocean, green glowing sharks flying around us. The ocean drained and we laid on a cracked desert littered with dried bones of sharks and dinosaurs. You looked at me and said you loved me anyways. But I realized I wasn’t there. You spoke the words to no one. Maybe to all earth and existence. The little left of it. Then I was in New York, but New York was like Disneyland but with metal towers and everything a giant mall and around every corner was a new celebrity, and I walked until New York ran out and I was back in the desert with the giant shark bones, but I was so much smaller. I looked down and the New York Disneyland mall was the size of a shoe. It sunk in the sand and out crawled a shoe sized scorpion. I noticed the sun had set and visible galaxies swirled above. Either the reflection of a galaxy shimmered on the scorpion’s black mirror like shell, or it was transparent, and a galaxy swirled inside of it. “Where are you?” I asked. Laughter rained down on me. “You are alone,” a voice said. “All else is an illusion.” A string orchestra played a sad song and I cried.
By Cameron Glenn2 years ago in Poets
Digilibraries
I'll never beat The Art of War. But let me explain why. About a month ago, I received an invitation from DigiLibraries to post my books there. Obviously, they post free ebooks. I have several ebooks I have authored and I post them for people to download for free, even though I retain the copyright. It's free for the reader, but that doesn't mean people can use my writing without my permission.
By Stephanie Van Orman2 days ago in Writers
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