Do You Know Where Fairies Live?
Do you know where fairies live?
To see just one, I'd gladly give
The moon and stars and galaxies
That sail above the summer breeze.
This section is for poetry that falls in the realm of fantasy. The genre of fantasy is an opportunity to dream of reality as we might like it to be. It may leave the reader wondering if this fantasy is possible or whether it bears any resemblance to the real world. However, there are no limits to the possibilities that our imaginations can conjure. Each of these thoughts that are put on paper, although lacking an objective truth, tell us a truth about the human condition.
Do you know where fairies live?
To see just one, I'd gladly give
The moon and stars and galaxies
That sail above the summer breeze.
I have been offline due to friends visiting and would have replied sooner, but your words of encouragement, including visualizing a book, made my day--thank you so much! I have read all of...
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I asked him where he was going,
and he said that he didn't know.
Then I asked him where he came from,
We slip beneath the pillow's spell
And drift from heaven and into hell
To lose control of conscious mind
The secrets of our soul to find.
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It sat alone.
What happened there is still today unknown.
It is a very mysterious place,
And inside you can tell it has a ton of space,
I believe in magic.
I believe in stories,
In strange beauty and wonder,
In dreams and glories.
I walked to the beach,
To collect some shells.
I stood on the pier,
And listened to the sounds.
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He rode through the woods on a big blue ox,
He had fists as hard as choppin' blocks,
Five hundred pounds and nine feet tall...that's Paul.
This poem is easily identifiable as a classic, and it contains facts and emotions we all share throughout life at some time or other. Great reading and a great share. Well worth real...
"Son," said my mother,
When I was knee-high,
"you've need of clothes to cover you,
and not a rag have I.
The poem is a short, sweet, and precise journey of a great son-mother relationship. It takes one through the sacred and holy shares of time given by a mother in dedication to her child. The...
What I'm about to tell you, you must keep it on the low.
Vampires are dangerous, so don't tell them no.
They're both beautiful and mysterious,
Big fangs, dressed in black; blood is what they want.
Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,
And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;
For many a year he had gnawed it near,
For meat was hard to come by.
This poem reminds me of times reading this with my dad. Thank you for publishing this poem!