Dreams
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.
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.
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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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...
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The enormous red and black beauty of the sky,
Always been free to fly.
But since all the little creatures-
With their bows and arrows-...
This poem really touched my heart. We are so cruel to animals. We kill them for our selfish gains and we killed so many that some are extinct and soon some will be like a rhino. Can't we show...
I believe in magic.
I believe in stories,
In strange beauty and wonder,
In dreams and glories.
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!
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Look, over there
Confused in its present state
Stands a one horned animal let out of heavens gate
Angel's give them a specific name...
The castle is a place where poets dwell,
Where each can cast their wondrous spell.
From the turrets high to the dungeons deep
From each portcullis to the central keep....
I enjoyed this poem. It had rhyme and reason. I thought it a bit scary by the end. Keep up the good work Mike!
In my little airplane
flying way up high,
zooming through the lands of clouds
so white and grand and high,...
I asked him where he was going,
and he said that he didn't know.
Then I asked him where he came from,