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Deep in green ocean where wind dances with leaves,
An old druid is sitting, lonely and silent.
Deep in a forest where light barely seeps,
He waits for the one who makes his life vibrant.

Deep in the shadows of ancient oaks,
Carrying sack filled with pine cones and seeds.
Deep in the darkness where mist gently floats,
He waits for the one who has all he needs.

Roots are the veins that carry earth's life,
Green stems grow peacefully, berries are sweet.
This is a place that knows no strife,
He sits and waits for her with pergamen sheet.

Words that feel warm like the home that he left,
Words that feel colder than long winter nights.
Some words monger fear worse than death,
Some words could end the most hateful fights.

He sits there patiently, his eyes still cry,
Writing the ballad for woman he loves.
She is his fae, she taught him to fly,
Fly like a gentle flock of pale doves.

Long ago has he left life of clashes,
Just to see once again eyes of that muse.
Ready to sit there till stars turn to ashes,
Without her by his side, life has no use.

Nights were long, lonely, and cold,
Rays of the sun could not reach his soul.
But even in darkness, alone and old,
He sits there and waits for her, fearing no howl.

Days turn to months and months into years.
He saw her look at him just a few times.
Just glance at her beauty is spilling his tears,
Just smile of her lips makes him forget his crimes.

Deep in the halls of intertwined branches,
A fae was dancing on pillows of moss.
Sweet is her voice, bringing new chances,
Mystical power in her eyes gloss.

Rain itself doesn't dare soaking her hair,
Ground itself doesn't dare staining her dress.
Sun itself enjoys the light of her glare,
Gods themselves wish by her to be blessed.

Under the crown of peaceful beech,
She rests after dancing, hidden from sight.
Not knowing what the druid's heart so beseech,
Not knowing he's slowly losing his light.

Amongst the trunks of whispering trees,
Silently waiting, alive just from hope.
Until dust of his bones is carried by breeze,
He reads words of love he long ago wrote.

Perhaps she notices, perhaps she watches,
Perhaps she's listening, hidden in green.
Perhaps she'll come before his years notches
Run out of space and he dies unseen.

Decades then came and went, time knows no friend.
Old druid still sits there, his voice getting weaker.
Losing all hope, he expects just end,
Giving up on being true love's seeker.

Leaves are now rotting beneath his feet.
His eyes see nothing but darkness and pain.
He spent his life waiting for something sweet,
His smile went dim, washed down by salty rain.

Was he a lunatic or was he just wrong?
Did he just waste his life in expectations?
His love still burns for her, ever so strong,
But his heart's in pain that could destroy nations.

Suddenly, beautiful voice sounds in trees,
Calling his name, beseeching his soul.
Not to give up just yet, to be at ease,
Not to fear sadness and hopelessness foul.

Sunbeam of gold lit up desolace dark,
Pouring his life back into his old veins.
Within his eyes again danced a spark,
Spark of hope coming from eternal plains.

Trees themselves whispered her name to the breeze.
Beasts of the forest quietly admired beauty.
Ground itself softened to give her walk peace.
Time itself refused to do its duty.

She walked slowly towards him, such graceful beauty.
Her warmth healed his wounds, soothed his cuts.
Her presence shields him from this world's cruelty.
Stars in her eyes are to happiness maps.

Only to see her erased all his doubts.
To see her walk closer gave him back his power.
And in his soul, after years of endless droughts,
She summoned rain, a life-giving shower.

Her touch was like spark that reignites flames.
Her breath was calm wind that clears out the sky.
Her voice makes him forget of all other names,
When she is so close, he will never die.

In her arms warm were days, warmer were nights.
In her arms struggles did no longer matter.
In her arms his mind flies up to sky heights.
In her arms stone walls of loneliness shatter.

Yet nature calls her back, to dance with grace,
To dance through forest and give world its meaning.
He knew that coming are much darker days,
She's going to leave his side, all that's left: feeling.

He wants her to stay; she makes him feel seen.
He holds her so tightly, not letting go.
He looks in her eyes deeply, she is his queen.
He wants to tell her the truth, to let her know.

He would stay guard all night so she could slumber.
He would give everything that he can offer.
For her to be warm he'd carry red ember.
He would be protector, friend, and a lover.

Gathering strength for these words to be told,
His mind is overwhelmed by adoration.
He needs her to know this deep truth that's so old,
Yet he is defeated by his emotion.

Deep in the forest where night meets the day,
Old druid is sitting, wishing he dared.
Deep in the forest where he met his fae,
Waiting for one who hugged him and cared.

Deep in the shadows where leaves obstruct rain,
Old druid is sitting, lonely and still,
Waiting for fae who healed his soul's pain.
She might not return, but waiting's his will.

Some say this ballad is purely a dream.
Some say the druid is still waiting for fae,
Writing the words just for her to be seen,
Hoping she returns to him every day.
the things i could tell you—
they’re almost criminal.
but i only find your lips,
soft with ache for me,
in the quiet dark of dreams.
i carry you
like a wound that scabs
but never bleeds.

and if you were here,
really here,
i think i’d take the risk.
let my life fold in half,
see if you’d catch me
as i come apart
under your touch.

but i know you wouldn’t.
so i’ll hold onto
this fantasy for now,
praying that your flickers
eventually burn out.
this one is about being stuck in a fantasy, because courage is a myth.
~ A Nursery Rhyme ~

By night the lamplights bloom in blue,
and Squinty Bat comes lurking through.
A flicker, a whisper,
a crooked spin,
she twirls in the hush where dreams begin.

She nibbles moths that orbit the glow,
grim as the gossip graveyards know.
Around the lamp
she loops and slides,
a velvet ribbon on moonlit tides.

At morning sun - dreadful, bright! -
Miss Clara Parrot claims the light.
She squawks and scolds,
so green, so loud,
a herald of day to the mortal crowd.

She tattles from trees with her feathered choir,
spilling the secrets that night conspired.
Their laughter clatters
like shattered glass,
naming each sin the shadows let pass.

Neighbors groan and pull their sheets
as Clara reigns over waking streets.
While Squinty swings
in her secret nook,
dangling like crime in a dusty book.

By day, it’s Clara, gossip and glare,  
by night, it’s Squinty, a ghost in the air.  
And before you ask:
Which one is blessed?
the sun and the moon will refuse that test.
And a credit to Mr. Edward Gorey, an inspiration.
he touched my arm
as he paid for his latte —
i smiled as he talked.
he’s going to budapest.
same time as me.

he asked if i could
recommend things to see.
easy.
the ruin bars,
the chain bridge.
the gellért baths,
if you like steam.

i could be your guide —
i didn’t say —
i know a great place
i could take you.
it doesn’t need a ticket.
conveniently,
it’s located
in my bedroom.
this one is about the crush who wanted to explore budapest, and made me consider becoming a private tour guide.
ria Jul 23
do you exist?

in this realm,
in this time,
in this small blip of moments,

and if so,
how do i capture you?
hold you in my hands.
in my heart.
how do i seek you out?

when you’re nothing of our kind.
neither here nor there.
you’re simply smoke and mirrors.
nowhere, yet everywhere.

you’ve got no flesh and bones,
simply god made and grown.
you’ve got no fear, just quest,
a longing to roam.

are you even real?

or just an ache that I conceal?

if you are just fiction,
how do I conjure you
and keep you with conviction?

you’d be locked into my mind.
giving me endless daydreams,
yet consuming all my time.

then maybe i’d be lost
in your never ending shimmer.

my life and light would fade
in comparison
to a low flicker dimmer.

i would waste my decades decaying.
simple, stupid, and waiting.

i would turn down every suitor.
yet I would be an angry, seething,
lovelorn refuter

and if i can’t have you,
or sift my hands to grasp,
what will be the purpose?
and what heart of mine will last?
Nyx Velora Jul 22
Are you even real?
Or just a product of my dreams?
Losing you is something I fear.
Maybe I should come with you my dear.

Burning down my throat,
these pills they made me swallow.
As I lay in bed to wallow.
I don't want to wake up dear.
Losing you is something I fear.

Please they want me to stay awake.
In my dreams your presence follows me in my wake.
Hold me tight, I don't wanna ever leave.
If you're not here I don't wanna ever live.

Tears sting the corner of my eyes.
As they force water in my mouth.
I count the minutes before I'm finally out.
Now you're no longer here when I close my eyes.

Are you even real?
Or just a product of my dreams?
Losing you is something I fear.
I should have come with you my dear.

- N.V. 🥀
lisagrace Jul 20
I stare at my feet
My home where I should be
Magic is dead here
Alagaësia calls me
I speak in the ancient tongue
The fourth and final poem in my Inheritance Cycle-inspired tanka series.
A quiet return to what still calls me—magic, language, and the self I thought I’d lost.
If you’ve read any part of this journey, thank you. It means more than you know.

– Lisa 🐉
lisagrace Jul 20
The ink fades to beige
A voice pulls me from the page
But the boughs and hills remain
Desperately, I muster
My eyes, alight—brisingr
The third poem in my four-part tanka series inspired by The Inheritance Cycle.
That moment when you're pulled back to reality, but part of you still lingers in the story.
The magic stays with you—even after the book closes.
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